


The Dutiful Wife

by TheElementOfSurprise



Category: Black Sails, Treasure Island - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Angst, Desert Island Fic, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 77,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheElementOfSurprise/pseuds/TheElementOfSurprise
Summary: The plan had been a simple one, find her husband and reconcile, but things didn't turn out exactly as Sarah had expected.
Relationships: Billy Bones/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first completed fic, originally posted on FF under a different name.  
> Not sure if my labeling of the main character in this story as an OC is strictly correct, she is a mentioned character in the Black Sails TV series and existed in real life but she is never seen on screen.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

Sarah sat up abruptly, coughing and promptly vomited up a stomach full of seawater. She clutched her chest and coughed some more, the pain in her lungs a sharp counterpoint to her exhaustion. Her clothes were sodden and there was sand caked over her skin, gritty and rough, abrading her many cuts and scrapes.

Rolling onto her hands and knees she retched again and brought up more seawater before collapsing to the sand with a heavy groan, curled on her side. She lay for a time, cataloguing her pain, the sour rawness of her throat, the stiffness of fingers curled for too long around rough rope, the ache of her dehydrated swollen joints and the sharp sting of her wrenched shoulder. The surf lapped softly at her feet but she couldn't find the energy to move any further up the beach so she curled up more tightly, pulling them away from the water.

At first her memories were hazy flickers of recollection. A huge storm, flashes of lightening, the anguished groaning of timbers pushed beyond endurance, and the feel of roughened wood and rope abrading her fingers as she clung desperately to a broken piece of rigging, but gradually she pieced together her memories.

A ship killer the men had called it when the storm was first spotted by the lookouts, swift and merciless and too fast to outrun as it had turned out. The second in as many days, the first having pushed them wildly off course, or so the Captain had told her.

She remembered the mate pushing her into her cabin, admonishing her to stay there, the fear in his eyes cowing the urge to demand he find Charlotte and return her to the cabin as well. Sarah had been certain that he would do that anyway and it was only later that she wished she had been more insistent.

In the end she had ignored the seaman's advice, the cracking of wood scaring her out of her cabin, terrified she would be trapped in the bowels of the sinking ship. She had tried to find Charlotte but it was a near impossible task in the almost pitch black, lurching, heaving darkness that was below decks.

As it was she had only just made it to the deck when the whole ship gave a tremendous lurch and the main mast snapped like a twig, ripping free of its moorings and tearing a huge hole on the side of the ship. She had been thrown over the side, icy raging seas coming up to claim her, the weight of her skirts dragging her under the water. It was only by some great good fortune that she had been able to grab hold of a length of rope attached to a floating piece of wood. At some point she must have lost consciousness and now miraculously she found herself not dead, but on a beach somewhere far from home.

She sat up again and looked around. She was on a deserted beach, white sand stretching away down the coast, with no sign of human habitation in either direction. In one direction she saw caves and a rocky outcrop, and in the other the bay curved around and out of sight. A dense forest edged the beach, alive with cries and squawks of many birds and creatures and populated with a number of species of tree that were completely unknown to her. Debris from the wreck cluttered the shallows, swishing up and down the beach with each pulse of the waves.

Her gaze sharpened as she spotted a dark lump some way down the beach and then suddenly she was on her feet, shading her eyes from the relentless sunlight. Running, she pounded down the beach and fell to her knees, rolling the man over on to his back, prayers and entreaties bubbling from her lips. The man's face was vaguely familiar to her but she had no idea of his name, she hadn't really had much conversation with anyone but the captain. The man's face was grey, she couldn't tell if he was breathing and there was blood running down his side from a large piece of splintered wood impaled in his abdomen. Sarah pulled him onto his side.

'Please don't be dead!' she begged giving him a shake, heedless of his injury and desperate for any kind of response. In the end she got one. Much like her the man suddenly coughed and vomited up seawater into her lap and she found herself almost laughing with relief.

'Thank God' she said over and over while the man groaned and coughed, and opened his red rimmed eyes, blinking to shift the sand and salt water. He gazed at her in confusion for some time and then eventually croaked, 'Water?' and at her hesitation said again, 'Have you any water?', his voice low and rasping. Sarah glanced down at the sea, at a loss and then looked around her uncertainly.

'I don't know…there might…I don't…'

The man frowned at her and then struggled to sit up, wincing visibly as the movement tore at his injury. Following his gaze to the blood that continued to flow sluggishly Sarah pressed a hand to her mouth.

'Should we do something about that?' she asked.

'I'll deal with it, find us some water.' He rolled his eyes as she hesitated and then pointed up the beach. 'Follow the beach, there will be a stream somewhere, find it.

Sarah felt stupid and incompetent but she did as she was bid, glancing back at the man frequently, irrationally worried that he might disappear as soon as her back was turned. Her hands shook and she felt breathless but she focused on finding water, her dry, sore mouth the only encouragement she needed.

It took quite some time but eventually she found a small trickle of a stream flowing down the beach to join the sea. Nervously she followed it a few yards from the tree line away from the bay where the trickle was slightly deeper and immediately fell to her knees and greedily scooped mouthful after mouthful into her mouth.

The affect was almost immediate, sweat broke out on her brow and her headache eased. Drinking as much as she could she looked down at her hands and almost burst into tears. She didn't have anything to take water back to the man, and judging by the wound on his side he wouldn't be able to make his way this far. She cast around looking for something to hold water but in this deserted place no buckets were immediately forthcoming. She didn't want to go back empty handed, she wanted to be useful, not a burden to the injured man.

Eyeing the greenery around her she had a sudden flash of inspiration and began pulling down large fronds of the plants. Quickly she wove a makeshift basket and lined it with a broad leaf from another plant she didn't recognise. It wasn't perfect but it leaked at a slow enough rate that she thought she might be able to get a reasonable amount of water back to the sailor.

Her skirts, while still damp, had been drying in the heat but by the time she made her way back down the beach with her makeshift water carrier the front of them were wet again and there was barely two cups of water left in the bottom. However, she reasoned it was better than nothing.The sailor didn't appear to mind, he took it gratefully enough and drained it quickly with a sigh of relief. While she had been gone he had ripped off one of his sleeves to make a bandage and tied up his wound. The shard of wood lay beside him, blood stained and ragged edged. Sarah stared at and swallowed hard as her stomach heaved.

'Do you want me to look at it?' she said tentatively, not sure what help she could be. The man shook his head.

'It's fine.' He said hoarsely. 'We need shelter. Water, shelter, then food.'

Sarah nodded trying to look knowledgeable. 'Shelter, yes.'

'The sun, it'll kill you quick. Gather up what wood and anything else you can find from the wreck, anything might be useful. You can use the palm leaves to cover it, the shelter that is. Make it above the tide line, near the trees.'

She stood, with determination which soon abandoned her as she looked around helplessly. Unsure where to start she turned to her companion and curtsied, feeling the fool.

'Sarah Castle at your service.'

He looked up at her, shading his eyes with his hand. 'William,' he responded shortly.

'A pleasure to make your acquaintance William,' she said with a confidence she was far from feeling. 'Now you tell me exactly what you want me to do and I will do my very best to carry out your instructions.'

He gave her an odd look but proceeded to give her very precise instructions. The shelter wasn't very sound, some of the larger planks of wood were beyond the capacity of her strength and she sliced her hands on the palm leaves she had used to roof it until, realising her difficulty, he gave her his knife to cut them from the trees. It looked rather like a stiff breeze might blow it over but despite the grimace he gave as he regarded it William settled himself inside without comment. Sarah felt quite proud as she looked at it, it reminded her of the dens she used to build with her brothers in the woods when they were children, before she was forced into more ladylike pastimes.

Once William had sent her back to the stream for more water and directed her to some low hanging fruit trees that he said were edible she sat down with him to look through their haul of wreck debris. Mainly it was pieces of wood which she had laid out on the sand to dry for the building a fire later. William had a knife and a tinder box for starting fires. Sarah had found her pockets buried under her skirts which contained nothing nearly so useful but she kept everything anyway, loath to part with anything that might come in useful later, so the sodden pack of playing cards, ink run to almost nothing, a small bundle of silk skeins and embroidery needles in a leather pouch and an ivory comb remained. The sea had relinquished a couple of flasks which she wished she had seen before she had gone to get water, however when William realised they contained rum and their seals were still intact he refused to let her empty them to use for carrying water. He became almost complimentary about her basket when she started to argue with him and then opened one of the bottles, taking a generous swig and pouring some onto his wound, wincing as he did so. Realising its potential medicinal value Sarah forbore to question him further. A wooden cask, the lid smashed and the contents gone, several lengths of rope and some netting were the only other things she had found on her hunt. It was a dismal haul but William seemed quite pleased. He was less pleased when she struggled to start a fire but softened when she persisted and eventually managed to get a respectable blaze going.

Much later Sarah lay on the sand trying to sleep, William already snoring close by. She was tired but also bewildered by the turn her journey had taken, her mind running over the things she had done today. William had barked instructions at her all day and she had followed then ignoring the feeling of indignation as he treated her as a servant, a stupid servant at that. Several times she had wanted to object as her pride took another blow but she rationalised that his knowledge provided her with the best chance of survival and rescue. Still it galled her to be spoken to in such a way by one so beneath her socially. Even on the ship she had spoken only to the captain and the first mate, the common seamen almost invisible to her.

She choked back a sob as she finally gave herself time to consider all that she had lost. She assumed that most of the seamen were dead, as well as her maid Charlotte who she had been unable to find in the dark, heaving bowels of the ship. She bit the back of her hand to stifle the sound of her weeping, loath to wake her companion. She didn't know what she would do if she were totally alone, if William were not here to guide her.

When she awoke in the morning his face was flushed with fever and his wound had started to smell putrid.

Within two days he was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the absence of his laboured, rattling breathing that alerted her to a change and when she tried to wake him his skin was cool to touch. For a moment she thought his fever had broken but then she saw his sightless eyes and with a choked off gasp realised the truth. She had to admit she wasn't surprised, the fetid odour from the seeping wound in his side a constant reminder of their predicament but she had prayed so hard for him, to not be left alone, it was almost a shock that God had not answered her prayers.

Unsure what to do she left him where he was for the better part of the day until she realised that she couldn't sleep next to his corpse.

Grunting with effort she dragged him out onto the beach and then, breathing heavily, flopped down onto the sand next to him. Glancing over at the body of her only friend she shuddered and then reached across to close his eyes, smoothing his dark curls from his forehead as an afterthought before she broke down weeping.

It seemed that she should have run out of tears by now but they still kept coming, choking sobs of anguish, anger and terror. A few minutes had passed before she was able to compose herself, taking a deep breath and scrubbing at her face with one hand. She sniffed noisily and then went down to the water to splash some on her face, closed her eyes briefly and considered her situation.

Ideally she would have buried him but having picked a spot further down the beach and digging for some time with her hands she was forced to admit defeat. She didn't have anything remotely resembling a shovel and the dry sand collapsed in on itself as quickly as she could dig. After half an hour she had only a small hole and the whole task was proving fruitless and frustrating.

She sat back down on the sand again and stared out to sea until she noticed that the tide was going out. She scrambled quickly to her feet thinking hard.

Sailors were buried at sea she knew so perhaps she should give William back to the sea, it seemed fitting. Laboriously she dragged him down the shore and into the surf, relieved to find that for the most part he floated, making her task considerably easier. Getting him past the breakers was a little harder but she managed it eventually, soaking her skirts once more in the process. Once past she gave him a hard push to send him on his way and watched as he drifted slowly out, the tide taking him further and further away.

Clasping her hands to her chest she prayed quietly, 'God, our Father, I entrust William into your hands. Today I thank you for William and for what he has given and received. Help me in my mourning and teach me to live for the living in the time that is left to me. Thank you for eternal life that can give light and joy to our days and years already here on earth. Amen.' She paused and then whispered, 'Thank you William for helping me to live, I am sorry I could not do the same for you.'

She bowed her head and silently prayed for the strength to go on in the face of her adversity. A last glance at William's receding corpse and she turned and made her way back up the beach, fervently hoping that he did not return on the morning tide. However, when he did not Sarah felt strangely bereft.

The next couple of days Sarah set about keeping herself busy and improving her living arrangements. Her first action was to do something about her water supply. She considered moving closer to the stream but was disinclined to leave the area that she had washed up in, vague logic assuming that the currents led there and anyone who might arrive would do so in that area. She had not yet given up hope of rescue. It was probably a fallacy but her shelter was here and she might not be able to tie the knots again to secure it without William's sharp direction, so she decided to remain where she was.

She picked up the small cask and her basket and started down the beach towards the stream. Her plan was to fill the cask with water meaning she would only have to make the trip every few days and not twice a day for a meagre amount of water. What she had not counted on was the weight of the cask when she had filled it to the brim with water, scooping it in with her basket. She was perched on the edge of the stream heaving and grunting for some time before she admitted defeat, her innate stubbornness refusing to let her give up. Carefully she tipped small amounts of the water away until she could shift the recalcitrant cask, it was only about half full by this time but infinity more water tight than her basket.

Her first few steps had her stumbling and spilling even more of the water so grumbling under her breath she went back and refilled. Her next attempt was considerably slower and more considered and she was relieved to find that once she got to the beach the sand smoothed the dragging somewhat. Still, by the time she returned to camp she was sweating profusely, the sticky trickle of sweat down her back making her itch and long for a cool bath.

She had a few mouthfuls of water and then with a quick glance around the vicinity, not that she was really expecting to see someone, she began stripping off the remnants of her clothing, bodice first and then her stays. She scratched at her ribs through her chemise and enjoyed the sensation of freedom and relief from constriction, then turned her attention to her skirt and petticoats, pulling them all off as well, and placing her pockets, now also containing William's knife and tinder box carefully to one side. With her chemise providing her with the illusion of modesty she entered the sea allowing the cooler water to rinse away the filth of the last few days.

Once clean she walked back to her shelter and found her comb, sitting on the sand and laboriously brushing out the tangles and snarls that had accumulated. It took longer than she thought it would but the prosaic action was somehow soothing, however she silently berated herself when she realised how much of the day had gone. She was getting tired of her diet of solely fruit, not to mention the rather unpleasant side effect on her guts and had planned to try to find something more substantial for her dinner.

She had fond memories of fishing trips with her brothers, her brother James solemnly explaining the best places to catch a monster fish. It amused her now to think of James parroting the words of his elders to his younger sister as if he were the fount of all wisdom, although at that age she had thought he was. They had spent many a day by the river, James and Henry teaching her how to shape a hook correctly and what was the best bait for each type of fish. They would tie the fishing lines to their toes and lie in the grass at the edge of the water hoping for a bite.

Of course, Sarah never caught anything, her youthful restlessness would soon find her running around the meadow chasing butterflies or making daisy chains but she hoped she was a bit more patient now. She thought she remembered a few times Henry catching some sizable fish. She just hoped her memory did not deceive her.

She took out one of her five precious needles, inspected it for a time and then using a pair of rocks she had found in the shallows carefully tapped it into a hook shape. The rope she had chosen took a bit of time to unravel but eventually she had a good length of thin but reasonably strong cord. The threading of the needle she had not even considered and by the time she managed to pull the cord through she had nearly given up on the whole venture several times over. She gave a little crow of satisfaction and then looked up sharply. She had a sudden and unnerving feeling of being watched, like a whisper of breath against the skin of her neck.

She stood and looked around but there was nothing and no-one there. Shaking her head at her whimsy she began pulling on one of her petticoats, tying them neatly at the side. The hat she had woven the day before was last to go on, secured with a wide strip cut from the bottom of one of her petticoats tied in a bow under her chin. She had no shoes, one having been lost in the wreck and the other stowed neatly with her other meagre possessions until she found a use for it.

She wandered down the beach towards the caves and rocky outcrop she could see at the end. She remembered that fish tended to accumulate in the shaded areas and hoped that she would find a suitable spot.

Clambering over the rocks, her skirts hiked up to her knees to avoid tripping, she found a good, flat topped rock that jutted out into the sea enough for her purposes and settled down with her fishing line and her basket that contained some small pieces of fruit, the only thing she could think to use for bait. She attached a piece at securely as she could to her needle hook and dropped it down into the sea, the other end of the twine wrapped securely around her wrist, before settling down for a long wait.

Several hours went by with no luck, the denizens of the ocean seemingly only inclined to nibble away at her fruit without eating the whole thing and catching themselves on the hook. She replenished the bait several times feeling that a proper bite was only a matter of time and so it proved.

She gave a little squeal when finally there was a significant tug on her line and tightened her grip as something began to pull in earnest. But even as she started to haul in the line it suddenly went slack and when she pulled the rest in there was only the frayed end and no hook. She stared at the rope in dismay, feeling suddenly deflated and anxious. She had only five needles, four now, and no fish.

The urge to weep was intense but she held it determinedly at bay, she was normally so controlled and composed but the events of the last few days seemed to have broken something in her and she was rapidly turning into a watering pot. Throwing the remnants of her line in the basket with the remaining fruit she got up and muttering to herself about the contrary nature of fish, her line and life in general she started back down the beach, morosely contemplating another meal of fruit.

When she was about half way back to her shelter a crab sitting motionless just above the water line caught her eye.

She got out her knife and approached as stealthily as she could. Still the crab remained. She was practically standing on top of it, knife poised, when she realised it was already dead. Feeling slightly foolish but pleased with her find nonetheless she poked it with the point of her blade, dead indeed. Picking it up gingerly she gave it a little sniff, it smelled fresh, and at this juncture she wasn't inclined to be fussy. Trying not to think about buttered crabs she had eaten at dinner parties in England, the memory of the rich dish making her mouth water uncontrollably, she placed the crab in her basket and trotted back to her shelter.

Quickly she piled a bit more of her stack of dried driftwood on to get the smouldering remains of her fire going again. Her lack of cooking pot was a problem she had been considering for several days, her solution was two flat rocks she had found on the beach heated in the embers of her fire. She flipped one stone rather ineptly with a couple of branches of green wood stripped from a nearby tree and placed the crab onto in where it sizzled satisfyingly.

By the time she was sure it was cooked the shell was scorched and blackened and she had to wait, stomach rumbling audibly, until it was cool enough to touch. She cracked the shell and proceeded to greedily devour the contents, sighing with pleasure at the taste and the break from her monotonous diet. It wasn't quite the buttered crab of her previous life but it wasn't bad.

It was only later in the night when her heaving stomach dragged her from her shelter to vomit copiously at the edge of the jungle she realised that perhaps it hadn't been as fresh a crab as she had thought.

Clutching at her cramping guts she groaned before another wave of nausea swept over her and another revolting mix of half-digested crab and fruit fought its way back up her throat. By the time she had stopped being sick she was limp and exhausted and the only thing she could manage to do was drag herself back to her shelter and pray that there was no further recurrence.

The morning found her still nauseous but mercifully free from vomiting, however her heart sank when she remembered that she was going to need to refill her water cask. She didn't have the energy to walk to the stream, never mind dragging the cask full of water back with her but her mouth was parched and she knew she would need to drink to replenish her body.

Wondering if perhaps there was a small amount still left with which she might moisten her mouth she crawled over to the cask, which to her surprise was half full of water. She blinked, confused, she could have sworn it was almost empty. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and passed the point of really caring she gratefully scooped up a mouthful of water. She cringed a bit as the first of the water hit her stomach but aside from some violent churning she didn't seem to be inclined to bring anything back up so she carried on drinking. When she had finished she crawled back to her bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day proved to be more successful. Filled with renewed determination she had woken early, hammered out another hook and woven a stronger line, stomping down the beach with a steely glint in her eye that promised vengeance on any fish that refused to jump onto her hook. The fish still avoided it for quite some time, long enough for her resolve to start to dim, but eventually she got a bite and managed to haul in a fair sized fish that to her inexperienced eyes was quite the largest anyone had ever caught. She grilled it on her stones and gorged herself on its flaky white flesh and crispy skin, safe in the knowledge of its guaranteed freshness.

Having seen some of the insect life crawling around on the forest floor she was motivated to construct a hammock, weaving a fairly sturdy platform of plant fronds around some of the rope she had salvaged from the wreck. The first trial was a tense experience but despite some ominous creaks and settlings both her knots and the base held. She quickly learned the limits of movement her new bed allowed her, by dint of falling unceremoniously to the floor on several occasions, but despite an array of colourful bruises that now covered her legs and shoulder the hammock proved to be a much more comfortable resting place than the ground.

Despite her fears she also made several tentative forays into the forest, ignoring that odd sensation of not being entirely alone and on one occasion found a clutch of eggs, and on another saw both some sort of duck and a drift of small wild pigs at a distance. She considered how she might catch both but decided that she had a much more realistic chance of catching a duck than a pig. She didn't have any idea how to construct a snare but thought perhaps if the ducks had few natural predators she might be able to stalk one and kill it with her dagger. She knew she needed meat. A diet of fruit and the odd fish she managed to catch was not providing her with enough nutrition and already she knew she was losing weight. Her wrist bones were jutting out, the bones sharp against her skin. She felt weak all the time, even the simplest task was an effort and at this rate she knew she would starve to death before anyone found her.

She was still working out the details of her plan when she arrived back at her camp and stopped short at the sight of a leaf laid on her hammock with a cluster of ripe purple berries sat in the middle. She looked wildly around, expecting to see someone but again there was nothing to be seen. The beach stretched emptily into the distance in both directions.

She looked back at the berries and they were still there, looking delicious. She approached cautiously, alert to any movement but aside from the rippling of the trees in the breeze there was none. She picked up one of the berries and examined it carefully. She didn't really know what she was looking for, it looked like a berry, not one she was familiar with but a berry nonetheless. It tasted like a berry she found when she popped it in her mouth, tart and juicy, and while it was still fruit it was at least something new.

It was only when she was half way through them that she suddenly wondered if perhaps they were poisonous. There was nothing to indicate they were and she couldn't explain why someone would leave her a gift of poisonous berries, they would only have to look at her to realise she wasn't a threat. It was clear now that she was being watched by someone, someone who had possibly filled up her water cask when she was ill and now had left her some food. Those didn't seem to be the actions of someone who wished her harm so she finished the berries and hoped that at some point soon she would have the opportunity to thank whomever it was who had left them.

The opportunity was not long in coming.

The man was sitting on the sand a short way down the beach when Sarah woke a few days later, arms folded loosely around his knees, staring at her shelter. She got quickly to her feet and waited but he didn't say anything.

He was a tall man, heavily muscled dressed in loose fitting linen trousers and a dirty looking shirt with a number of leather thongs and beads around his neck. His hair was a sandy blond, cut short so raggedly she assumed someone must have done it with a knife. There was a week or more growth of beard on his chin but she thought he looked a similar age to her. Although he appeared to be feigning relaxation he wasn't doing it particularly well and the coiled awareness of his demeanour made her tense and eye him warily. She couldn't tell if he was trying to appear casual as a kindness or because he had some more nefarious intentions, but his inability to do so added to her unease.

'Hello?' she called, the lengthening silence making her uncomfortable. He continued to stare at her but didn't say a word. Sarah inched her hand down to pat her pocket, to feel the reassuring weight of her knife. She considered running but by the look of him he was fast and she was not, she knew she wouldn't get far. She tried again.

'Are you my mysterious benefactor?'

This time he gave a short nod and squinted to look at her better. It was a response at least. Emboldened she took a step forward and then stopped as he tensed.

'I am just glad I now have the opportunity to thank you. I was getting rather tired of those yellow fruits.'

'Are you here to kill me?' he said in rough voice, like he hadn't used it in some time.

'Pardon?' Whatever she had been expecting him to say it had not been that.

'Did they send you to kill me? I thought someone would come eventually.'

Sarah almost laughed at the absurdity and couldn't help saying rather dryly, 'They would probably have sent someone slightly more effective.'

For the first time he met her eyes and she thought she saw his lip twitch, although his expression remained blank.

'Who are you? Do you live here?'

He nodded, she assumed in response to her second question, and then clearing his throat said, 'Billy, Billy Bones.'

'Does that mean there is a settlement some whereabouts?'

'No, it's just me…and now you' he said shaking his head. Sarah's heart sank, his appearance had given her such hopes.

'Is there a way off the island? I was shipwrecked you see but I was on my way to Nassau and I still need to get there.'

'There is no way off this island.' His tone was hollow and a frown pinched at his brow. She nervously considered the idea that he might be lying but she was loath to interrogate him too hard, that coiled intensity was still there and she wasn't quite sure what she dealing with.

'Surely ships land here sometimes?'

'No ships,' he said baldly. 'I'm not even sure how it is you came to be here.'

'No ships…ever?'

'No.'

That one syllable, so unequivocally bestowed was her undoing.

'Oh dear, this is not good. Not good at all. What am I to do?' she all but wailed, falling down heavily on the sand and putting her face in her hands, her breath coming out in short and uneven gasps. She could feel hysteria building, a tightness in her chest and the threat of a sudden loosing of her almost uncontrollable emotions. She looked up to find he had stalked quite a lot closer but she was too caught up in her turmoil to pay him much attention.

It was a mistake.

'Why are you here?' he asked.

'I came to find my husband. Oh God.' The thought of the man who had cast her aside made the lump in her throat grow larger. How would she convince him to take her back if she couldn't find him? This was a worse situation than she had been in in England and there was no way out now. She had made her choices, choices she now realised were stupid and senseless, and now she would have to live with the consequences.

'Your husband? In Nassau?'

'My husband, Woodes Rogers, Governor of Nassau.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Woodes' first marriage was dealt with really annoyed me when I was watching Black Sails. His wife got barely a mention and then suddenly he has ditched her and is married to Eleanor. It made me wonder what her feelings might have been when her husband presumably sent her a letter to inform her of their divorce and this story is the result. #justiceforSarah.
> 
> I did a bit of research so some of the details are taken from history but others I have altered/ignored for the sake of the story so if you are looking for historical accuracy, umm, sorry?


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah was right, when the man moved he was lightning fast. She hadn't even sensed his approach before he was upon her, his hands wrapped around her throat, choking her cruelly.

'You were sent to kill me!' he roared in her face.

'No! NO!' she tried to say but she couldn't find the air to make herself heard. He pinned her to the ground, his massive frame filling her sight even as her vision began to blur and darken at the edges. Her neck was agony as his iron grip tightened, her hands clawing hopelessly at his brawny forearms, drawing blood as her nails scraped his flesh. Her lungs were screaming for air and she could hear the blood pounding in her ears.

Then, almost as quickly as it had begun it was over. His hands suddenly released her and he was pushing himself up, backing away on unsteady feet. Sarah just lay there for a moment gasping for air, her hands on her throat but then the sound of him swearing brought her back to a sense of reality.

Terror got her to her feet, adrenalin pumping, and panic set her running down the beach.

She knew it was futile but she also knew she had to try. She angled down to the hard packed sand in the surf and set her sights on the caves at the far end of the beach, maybe if she made it that far she could find one to hide in.

She knew she couldn't go into the jungle, he would know it better than she, and there were so many obstacles to tangle and trip her. The sea was a worse option, leaving her with only the caves. She pounded down the beach, her breathing ragged, the pain in her lungs worsening with each step.

She heard him curse and looked back to find him in pursuit so she increased her speed trying desperately to keep ahead of him but every time she looked back he was closer. She fumbled for her knife and pulled it wildly from her pocket. There was no way she was going to out run him, she knew that for certain now and no amount of prayer was going to slow him, but from somewhere, born of fear and desperation she found a sort of reckless courage and so she slowed and swung to face him, knife extended in trembling hand.

'Don't come any closer!' she screamed as he slowed to a stop, far, far too close. He raised his hands as if to show her he had no weapons but she was not fooled, those hands were his weapons, cruel, brutal, choking weapons.

'Jesus, Fuck! I'm sorry! I…I…didn't mean…' he stammered. She ignored his entreaties such as they were and slashed at him with the knife.

'Stay back!'

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' He sounded contrite but she didn't care. Chest heaving she never took her eyes off him. He stood, equally breathless, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides and then for a split second he looked away as if he was struggling to meet her accusatory gaze.

Sarah didn't hesitate, there was a kind of madness upon her. She launched herself at him, intent on sinking her knife into any available flesh she could find.

So unexpected was her attack that she succeeded in knocking him to the floor, but from there it went rapidly downhill. Swearing profusely he grabbed the wrist of her knife wielding hand and pressed hard on the tendon until pain forced her to release the knife. It dropped to the sand and when she made a grab for it he was already there, throwing it out of her reach. When she struggled to pull away from him his grip tightened so she bit his arm as hard as she could, only letting go as the warm, metallic taste of his blood filled her mouth.

'For fuck's sake! You fucking she-devil!' he raged, rolling her onto her back and pinning her legs under him even as he caught both her hands in one of his large ones. Impotent, but still fuelled by her adrenalin and her fear she continued to thrash, attempting without success to throw him off her. Realising she had reached the limits of her strength she glared balefully at him and then spat his own blood in his face. The look her gave her as he wiped blood and saliva off his cheek was almost amused but there was no amusement in his tone.

'Will you calm the fuck down,' he said menacingly. 'I'm sorry. I'm not going to hurt you,' he paused and then amended, 'again.'

Sarah ceased her struggling, glowering up at him in silence to hide her dread of what he would do next.

'I really am sorry and I promise it won't happen again,' he said less fiercely. 'I've been alone for a long time and Rogers is part of the reason I am stuck here. I heard his name and I sort of lost my head.'

'Sort of?' she croaked.

'I went fucking insane?'

She stayed silent.

'I went fucking insane and I'm sorry. I'm going to let you go now, please can we just talk? No choking, no running, no biting, just talk?'

She eyed him narrowly for a moment before she nodded once. She realised she couldn't do anything from her current position so was forced to acquiesce. He let go of her hands slowly and then pushed himself away from her. Sarah immediately scrambled away, curling herself up tightly to put as much distance as possible between them.

'I really have been alone for a long time, it's good to have someone else here.'

Sarah's eyes widened in fear. She wondered if she had escaped imminent death at his hands only to find herself the victim of this savage man's carnal urges. He caught her expression and frowned.

'What? What did I say?' he asked, then suddenly he appeared to realise what she must be thinking because his brow darkened. 'Don't be alarmed on that count, I'm not the type to force a woman.'

'I imagine you would have said you aren't the type to strangle a woman either, and yet here we are,' she said sharply without considering her words and then inwardly quailed at her temerity.

He gave an almost wry arch of his brows but then said seriously, 'A woman comes to my bed willingly or not at all.'

She didn't really know what to say to that so she simply regarded him until he dropped his eyes.

'Why are there no ships?' she asked when he seemed disinclined to break the silence.

'The island isn't plotted on most maps and it enjoys a dubious reputation for those who are aware of its existence.'

'Dubious reputation? What does that mean?'

He shrugged. 'There's some stories of unnatural goings on, ghostly apparitions, terrifying creatures, that kind of thing.'

She looked into the forest, alarmed. 'What kind of creatures?'

He looked at her slightly pityingly. 'They're not true. Some say you can hear the voice of God in the interior but it is just the echo of the waterfall. Sailors are a superstitious lot and give them a mist covered island and they'll be seeing and hearing all kinds of things within minutes.'

'Are you a sailor?'

He snorted, she wasn't sure why and then replied cryptically, 'Of sorts.'

'And how did you come to be here?'

She blanched and shrank back a little further at the expression her question elicited, part horror, part shame and part anger. Looking swiftly around she tried to locate her knife. It was a good six feet away, she could see the hilt glinting on the sand. Mr Bones scrubbed his hands through his hair and the movement brought her eyes back to him.

'I was abandoned here, left for dead,' he said, the undertone of rage making her cringe inwardly.

'By Woodes?' she said, wondering if she might regret asking.

'By everyone!' he burst out, his anguish clear to her. 'They betrayed me, then I betrayed them and then they left me here.'

'They betrayed you?'

'Tried to kill me.'

'Is this the same people who you thought had sent me to kill you?'

'Call that temporary insanity, but yes, those people. It's a long story, long and unnecessarily complicated.'

She took the hint, 'I have nothing but time it would appear but perhaps we can save the life stories for another day and stick to the potted histories for today.'

'Agreed,' he responded. There was a pause and then he said, 'so how is it you are calling Governor Rogers your husband, as far as I remember he was married to Eleanor Guthrie?'

She stiffened at the mention of that woman's name.

'He was married to me first,' she said, feeling shamed by how childish she sounded. 'I came to find him to talk him out of this…this…' she couldn't bring herself to say marriage, it was not a marriage. 'I came to convince him to discard his…whore,' she stumbled a bit over the unfamiliar word but continued, 'and come back to his true wife.'

'You did, did you?' She didn't like the look he was giving her, it seemed both amused and pitying and she had a horrible feeling that he knew this Guthrie woman and that the comparisons he was making were not flattering. She pulled herself erect under his gaze, straightening her spine, her pride stinging from the imagined criticism.

'Reports were confused in England, some said he had been captured by the pirates, some said he had been imprisoned for debt. I thought if I came here I could make some arrangement regarding his debts and secure his release, convince him to return to England.'

'And in doing so incur his eternal gratitude?'

She nibbled pensively on her thumb nail and then, sighing deeply, said, 'Something like that. Although given my current circumstances I am not sure how I will manage it now. Even if I could get to Nassau, my possessions are all lost including all my paperwork and I not sure how much I would be able to achieve without any evidence of my identity or wealth.'

'Given what I've seen, I imagine you could achieve quite a lot,' he said ruefully, absently rubbing the bite on his arm. She was perplexed, his comment had the ring of an offhand compliment. 'And you don't need to worry about Eleanor Guthrie any longer.'

'No? Why not?'

'She's dead,' he said blandly.

'Oh, well good,' she said slightly defiantly, even though she sensed that this woman's death caused him some pain. The look he shot her confirmed her assumption and she raised her chin rebelliously, all the time wondering what she thought she was doing. She had already experienced first-hand the strength in those arms and yet she couldn't seem to stop herself from deliberately goading him. She was also morbidly curious, 'How did she die?'

'The Spanish came, she was caught in the crossfire. Your husband invited them to the island to destroy his enemies and they destroyed everything he held dear at the same time.'

'I'm sure he had his reasons' she declared somewhat imperiously, her resentment at the description of that woman as everything Woodes held dear making her impudent.

'Yes, well, we all made some fucking stupid decisions at the time but he lost his wife and unborn child because of his.'

Sarah felt her stomach drop and her throat constrict. Sucking in a breath as best she could she fought those ever present tears.

'She was with child?' she managed to say, though her voice cracked slightly as she said it. He nodded slowly and she clambered laboriously to her feet and turned her back on him. When he began to say something she held up her hand to stop him and to her surprise he was silenced. She walked quickly down the beach, to put some distance between them and give herself the illusion of some privacy.

She could feel the emotions building in her chest, the nausea as her stomach rolled and lurched, the constriction of her lungs as she fought for breath. She sank to her knees and let out a discordant noise that was somewhere between a groan and wail, a sound of despair and grief. Her shoulders shook as intense sobs wracked her body. She punched ineffectually at the unresisting sand, weeping all the time and occasionally tearing at her hair as all her pent up emotions of what felt like the last ten years came pouring out.

That Woodes had created a child with _her_ was the deepest cut of all, but it seemed as if all the shallower wounds had been torn open at the same time and were weeping blood on her agony.

It was some time before she had cried herself out but eventually she fell forward, resting her head on her forearms feeling drained and weary.

Realising with a start of self-consciousness that Mr Bones was probably still watching from not very far away, she sat up, sniffed deeply and took several deep breaths before getting up and making her way down to the surf. She crouched down carefully to avoid wetting her skirts and splashed some sea water on her face, before drying it on the edge of her petticoat. She knew her eyes would be red and her face puffy but she felt more composed. She stalked back up the beach and sat down in front of him, folded her hands neatly in her lap, daring him to mention her lapse.

He didn't, he sat there in silence, eyeing her speculatively until he said suddenly, 'Are you hungry? I'm hungry.'

'Mr Bones, at the moment I am always hungry,' she admitted without thinking.

His lips twitched. 'I have pork.'

'Pork? Truly?' she tried not to sound too eager but the moment he had mentioned it her mouth had begun to water.

He nodded solemnly. 'Truly.' He got to his feet and awkwardly held out a hand to help her up which she ignored. The thought of food had momentarily clouded her judgement but she was rapidly realising that she couldn't just follow this man to who knew where. He was dangerous. Her stomach didn't seem to care about any considerations other than food but her head was adamant. She shook her head slowly.

'I can't go with you.'

'Why not?' he said clearly confused with her sudden change of mind.

'I don't know you…you might…' she trailed off uncertainly. He gave a huff of exasperation and strode over to her knife. Picking it up from the sand he dusted it off and handed it to her hilt first. She took it, not feeling any more secure in his presence. When she seemed no more inclined to follow him he swore under his breath and pulled a pistol from his belt. She froze. He held it out to her and when she hesitated shook it impatiently.

'Take it,' he said shortly.

She reached out and took the wooden grip in her hand and then looked up at him doubtfully.

'If you cock it and pull the trigger it will fire, so don't cock it unless you mean to shoot me. I don't have enough shot to be wasting it.'

She ran her finger over the cocking mechanism and watched him tense. She contemplated shooting him, it was tempting her emotional state being fragile at best, but she didn't think she could do it in cold blood.

Had she had the gun when he was chasing her down the beach it might have been a different story, although she was realistic enough to know, having never fired a gun in her life, in all probability she would have missed. It was galling to comprehend how little threat he saw in her, she knew he would never have given her the gun if he thought she would effectively use it. The temptation to shoot him returned but common sense, or rather her stomach, prevailed, announcing its demands with an audible growl. To his credit he didn't comment, just strode towards the trees without a backwards glance.

She followed him through the forest feeling apprehensive, the gun clutched in her hand. She had no reason to trust him but there didn't seem to be any more appealing choices and she was very hungry. The thought of actual meat had dulled any other considerations. If he wanted to kill her there wasn't a great deal to be done about it and at least this way she might experience a full stomach again. There would be a certain satisfaction in that. She felt an odd mixture of terror and resignation and seemed to be oscillating between them in a manner that she found quickly exhausting, but terror in the face the subdued threat this man now seemed to offer was hard to maintain. He walked ahead of her, leading the way and occasionally looking back as if to check on her whereabouts. Once he held a branch back so she could pass, an incongruous act of chivalry that almost made her curtsey in acknowledgement. She caught herself, ignoring the ingrained courtesy of her previous life and sidled past him keeping as much distance between them as possible and gripping the gun ever more tightly.

Mr Bones' shelter was about a half an hour walk through the forest, although shelter was not quite the word to describe it, it was a hut and far more impressive than she would have considered possible under the circumstances. She surveyed it, wondering how he had managed to construct it. It was a one room structure built of an assortment of bits of wood, some of which appeared to be slightly fire scorched. Outside, in front, was a fire pit, the embers smouldering gently and a haunch of meat hanging to one side. Her tension eased another degree, he hadn't been lying about the food. She took in several chests, a bucket and some tools, including an axe and a cutlass hanging neatly on a series of nails on the side of the house.

He watched her silently as she inspected his living space.

'Well, you've certainly been busy,' she said at last.

'I've had a bit of time on my hands for the last six months,' he replied.

'Six months? You've been here on your own for six months?'

He nodded. She was silently appalled but stopped short of sympathy, six months of isolation was still no excuse for attacking her.

'Where did everything come from? The wood and chests and tools, I mean?' she asked.

'There was a ship, well, there still is a ship, that didn't make it back. I salvaged what I could from that though a lot of it was burned beyond use.'

He gestured her to sit on one of the two chests arrayed around the fire.

'Expecting company?' she said as she sat on one, placing the pistol carefully down by her side.

'Hoping,' he grunted.

He opened the other chest and pulled out a pair of tin plates and tankards for the both of them and then began to carve meat off the hanging pork joint with his knife. Sarah wiped her mouth surreptitiously as she once more began to salivate at the thought of actual meat. Once he had finished carving a generous portion he went into the hut and came out a moment later with a pile of what she recognised as ship biscuits on the plate beside the meat. Filling her cup from a cask beside the door he handed both the plate and tankard to her. She nodded her thanks, too entranced by the food to speak properly, and as soon as his attention was on his own meal sank her teeth into the topmost piece of pork. Immediately warm, salty meat juices filled her mouth and she almost groaned with the pleasure of it.

Devouring the first piece she looked up to find him sitting opposite her regarding her with what could have been amusement. She swallowed the huge mouthful she had taken with some difficulty and nibbled somewhat more daintily at the second piece, ignoring the raging hunger in her belly. Soaking one of the biscuits in water for a time to soften it she took a bite and was surprised to find even hardtack could be delicious if you were hungry enough. She realised that she had forgotten to say Grace but thought perhaps God might forgive her on this occasion, however just in case she said a quick silent prayer of thanks for the food. It then occurred to her that she really should thank the man opposite her who had provided the meal. Mr Bones only grunted in response, apparently uncomfortable in the face of her gratitude.

'So there have been no ships in the last six months?' she asked quietly when she had finished the pork and was chewing on her last biscuit.

'You're really not going to let that lie are you?' he said thickly through a mouthful of meat. He swallowed and took a drink from his cup before continuing. 'I have seen no ships, no ships have landed on the island. I haven't even seen a ship further out to sea. No-one is coming here any time soon.'

She digested that, still determinedly looking for some ray of hope. 'But surely, surely you have some friends who might come looking for you?'

He grimaced. 'I don't have any friends any more, besides they probably think I'm dead. I fell off the ship.'

'So they didn't leave you behind, they didn't know you were here?'

'They would have left me regardless, if they didn't kill me instead.'

'Was it so very terrible, what you did?' she asked, curiosity overcoming caution.

'Yes,' he said shortly. 'I took a vow and I broke it.'

'Men break vows all the time,' she said with degree of asperity. 'Why was this one so different?' She wanted to bite her unruly tongue, worried she might anger him again.

'Men died because of me,' he said almost inaudibly. 'I let my desire for revenge against one man get the better of my judgement, I forgot about my vow and fucked everything up.' He was quiet for a time and Sarah was too timid to ask any more questions. He sighed and said, 'I know I accused you of being sent to kill me but there is really no reason to think they even know I am alive. They are not coming, no one is coming…unless…' he stopped and seemed to be thinking hard.

'Unless?' she prompted him carefully but he shook his head, as if to shake away unwelcome thoughts.

'Unless nothing, no one is coming and the sooner you accept that the easier it will be for you.'

There was something else, that much was clear but she was afraid to push him further. Still it gave her some faint hope. Perhaps the Spanish might come and he was rejecting them already as a possible avenue for rescue. She had no such qualms and would throw herself at the mercy of anyone who turned up in order to get back to civilisation. She sensibly kept that thought to herself though.

'Do you want more?' he said, getting up. She nodded and he came over to take her now empty plate. As he did so she saw his eyes move to her now sore throat. She imagined that bruises were already starting to form. He stopped and put his hand out as if to touch her. She shied violently fumbling for the discarded gun at her side. He dropped his hand immediately and moved quickly away, before she even had time to get a proper grip on the pistol.

'Sorry,' he said quietly as he began to refill her plate.


	5. Chapter 5

Sarah was lost, adrift. Everything she knew and could relate to had been torn away through her own act of stupidity and now she had no idea how to conduct herself. She had initially tried to retain the trappings of her previous life, to cling to the customs and habits that she understood, but her woolen dress was too hot and the stays too confining for the island so they had been abandoned in her chest. There were no servants to direct, no menus to plan and no morning calls to pay. Her companion was both intimidating and baffling, refusing to answer to anything but 'Billy' and ignoring all of her requests to call her 'Miss Castle'. He expected her to help him but was impatient with her fumbling attempts at basic tasks; he had no idea or care of decorum or respectability, saying and doing things that constantly put her in a blush; and his table manners were non-existent. She wanted to be helpful but shied away from exposing herself to his exasperation and thinly veiled contempt and so found herself at a loss as how to comport herself.

Not for the first time in her life she felt useless and burdensome and in her uncertainty found herself treating her fellow castaway with hauteur and detachment, putting him at a distance to protect herself. The only thing she could think to do to be of assistance was to watch for rescue and so every day she would climb to the top of the cliffs to the lookout that commanded a sweeping view over the bay and the sea beyond. At first, full of hope, she had spent much time up there scanning the horizon for a ship that never materialised, convinced that the lack of ships wasn't due to their not coming but his lack of attention. She did not tell him this of course but the slightly superior expression he always wore when she returned disheartened from a long watch made her think he knew exactly what she thought. Eventually she realised that he probably hadn't been lying.

A creeping lethargy began to envelop her, sucking away her energy and making even small chores seem insurmountable. She picked at her meals in a desultory fashion, pushing her food here and there on her plate. Her hammock, now relocated to the clearing of Mr Bones' hut despite her misgivings, was harder and harder to rise from each morning, she just wanted to turn over and go back to sleep, always hoping that maybe this time she would wake up from this awful dream, or maybe just not wake up at all.

The tree canopy above her stirred in the breeze and she gazed at the shifting leaves idly, wondering what Woodes was doing. She yearned to ask Mr Bones about Woodes but the one occasion she had gathered enough courage to ask him how her husband had looked when last he saw him he had replied shortly, 'Hollow, like a man who has lost everything.'

She did not ask again.

She could hear Mr Bones moving around the camp, the clatter of wood as he restocked the pile by the fire and the splash of water as he took a drink from the cask. She shut her eyes again and heaved a sigh.

'You should bathe,' she heard him say from the fireside. Irrational irritation flared up inside her, the only emotion she seemed to be capable of feeling at the moment, besides apathy. Either she didn't care or she was irritable and there seemed to be many things to irritate her recently; an overturned cask of water that she had just spent all her energy filling; the knots of her hammock loosing and dumping her to the ground; her knife never being where she could have sworn she had left it. She ignored him and rolled over.

'Seriously though, you're starting to look and smell like you've been months at sea.'

His voice sounded from just above her. Her eyes popped open and she sat up to find him looming over her, tin cup in hand. She rolled gracelessly off the hammock and turned to face him, flushed and frowning, the woven mat of her bed providing a barrier between them. He regarded her with his brows raised and something like sympathy in his eyes, a gentler expression than she had yet seen on his face, but also an expression that made her want to scream at him, even though she was well aware of the consequences of provoking this man's wrath. His brows rose a little higher as he observed her.

'It will make you feel better,' he said quietly. 'Believe me, I know.'

Abruptly he turned away, walked to the fire and dropped his cup into a bucket. He picked up his fishing line and net from where they were propped against the hut and without looking at her strode out of the camp, calling over his shoulder, 'I'm going fishing.'

Sarah watched his retreating back until he was out of sight and then slowly uncurled her clenched fists from the edge of the hammock and in doing so caught sight of her hands. They were dirty, filthy really, her nails black crescents at the tips of her fingers, torn and rough. Her hair was a tangled mess falling over her shoulder, a mass of snarls, dirt and sweat. She suddenly felt disgusting, and embarrassed. Her once fashionably pale skin was now a golden brown, despite all her best efforts to stay out of the sun, and she knew even without a mirror that freckles speckled the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. She shook out her skirts, noting the dirt crusted on the hem and a tear in the flounce. If Woodes could see her now he would be appalled.

Huffing to herself she stomped down to the fresh water pool not far from the hut, divested herself of her skirts and scrubbed at the filth in the shallow water at the pool's edge. Once satisfied they were as clean as she could manage she laid them to dry on a flat rock in the sun. Glancing around to make sure that Mr Bones was nowhere in sight she waded into the pool, her chemise clinging to her skin. The water's cool touch was an immediate relief and she floated lazily for a time staring at the sky, her breathing loud in her ears, watching small patches of white cloud chase across the expanse while she considered her situation.

She knew she was behaving badly and if she was honest with herself, first encounter aside, Mr Bones had done very little to deserve her treatment of him. A little rough he might be but he also fed her, maintained the fire, collected food for their meals and for the most part kept a proper distance. She was still wary of him, he often silently brooded for long periods and was short tempered when he eventually emerged from his contemplation. She suspected he was still ravaged by guilt for his past actions, actions that she knew very little about. Other than their brief conversation on the day of the first meeting the past had not been mentioned, but it was clear to her that his remorse and shame were eating away at him, and to be sharing a camp with her listless, apathetic self probably wasn't doing a great deal to improve his mood. After all, it wasn't his fault that she was trapped on the island, she only had herself to blame for that, and he was as much the victim of a cruel fate as she.

Resolve stirred in her for the first time in weeks, they could do better, she could do better. She washed her face and wrung out her hair, wrapping the tangled mess of curls up into a tight bun. Her soak had loosened most of the grime under her nails so she removed the remaining dirt and parred the rough edges down with her knife, before donning her now dry skirts over her damp chemise.

Back at the camp she considered their food stores, worrying the still rough edge of a nail with her teeth. She took down some smoked fish and herbs hanging from the ceiling of the hut, found some roots and onions, chopped them up and then put everything into the cast iron cooking pot with some water. While the pot was simmering she ground up some hardtack to serve as a thickener and added it to the bubbling concoction. She spooned a little out to taste it and was pleased to discover that the fish provided enough seasoning. Once satisfied it was cooked she swung the pot away from the fire, covered it with a cloth to keep the insects out, and crawled exhausted into her hammock to sleep again, too tired to wonder how her peace offering might be received.

The clink and scrape of metal on metal woke her. Blinking and rubbing her eyes she turned towards the fire. Mr Bones was eating from a tin plate with apparent gusto. He looked up as she pushed herself erect and gestured with his spoon to the fish stew.

'This is good.' He sounded surprised. 'I didn't realise you could cook.'

She felt wooden but forced herself to respond, 'My mother taught me. She wasn't born to money.'

'She taught you well.'

'There's no secret to it, just don't boil everything until all the flavour is gone.'

He blinked at her dry tone and gave a wry grimace. 'I'm not much of a cook.'

'No.'

'You volunteering for the job?'

He held her gaze as if he was expecting her to protest but she just nodded and then said quietly, 'I thought maybe you could teach me the plants as well.'

'The plants?'

'Which ones are edible, what to gather, where they grow.' She paused, 'So I can help you more.'

He inclined his head and said slowly, 'That would be useful.'

She released the breath she hadn't even realised she had been holding. The proffered olive branch appeared to have been accepted.

The next day Mr Bones stomped across the clearing, gun in hand. Sarah looked up from sewing her torn flounce, slightly alarmed.

'C'mon, I'm going hunting and you're coming too,' he said gruffly.

'Hunting?'

'I'll hunt, you can pick some fruit and the like. I thought you might like to see a bit more of the island and I can show you some edibles that you haven't seen yet.'

'Now?' she said, her lassitude dampening her enthusiasm.

'Yes, now. You got something better to do? Put your hat on,' he said shortly and strode to the edge of the clearing. She rolled her eyes a touch behind his back but did as she was bid, pausing to also tie on her pockets and pick up her basket. He looked around as she joined him and gave a jerk of his head to indicate she should follow him, through the trees, past the pool and on into the forest. He moved quickly, striding ahead of her so that most of her attention was concentrated on finding her footing and not tripping over the abundant tree roots.

They had been walking for a time and Sarah was hot and more than a little vexed by the sullen silence of her companion. When they reached a small stream he bent to take a drink and she crouched down beside him to do the same. Splashing a little water on her face cooled her and she was about to ask him where they were going when her eye was caught by an impossibly quick flash of bright green. She straightened up and saw it again, amid a perfusion of white blossoms on a bush across the stream, a tiny iridescent green bird hovering amongst the flowers. At least she thought it was a bird, it had a long narrow beak but its wings were moving too quickly for the eye to see, so quickly they emitted a gentle hum. She was enchanted.

She put her hand on Mr Bones' arm to get his attention and whispered, 'What is it?'

'What's what?' he said glancing round. Sarah looked down at her hand and quickly jerked it away. She pointed silently at the bird.

'Oh that,' he said. 'It's a fairy.'

She looked quickly up at him, scepticism written all over her face. 'Fairies don't look like that.'

'Not in England they don't,' he said but she saw his lip twitch, a slight curl at the corner like he might smile. She had not seen him smile but then she herself had not smiled for some time.

'What is it?' she asked again, a bit more insistently.

'It's a humming bird,' he relented in a low voice. 'There's lots of them here, all different colours and sizes. That one's quite a small one, some are bigger. They feed on the nectar in the flowers.'

'And those are proper bird wings?'

'Yes, they are proper wings, just moving faster than you can see. Sometimes they fly right by you and it sounds like a huge insect is coming for you.'

She gave a shiver at the idea, the insects here were larger than she was used to and strange to her eyes. The humming bird moved from one flower to another as she watched, the whir of its wings an accompaniment to its movement, and then suddenly it vanished.

'Oh,' she exclaimed in disappointment looking around and trying, to no avail, to find it again.

'You scared it away.'

'I did not,' she said rather indignantly.

'No, you didn't. It probably went to find some more food, which is what we should be doing too.'

He straightened up and gestured to her to follow him. She grumbled quietly to herself but followed him nonetheless. The forest was a verdant green and alive with sounds that she couldn't place, so many rustlings, chirps and calls she didn't recognise. She realised she was glad of his company, there was something unnerving about being on her own in this unknown place and despite his vague reassurances she couldn't quite put his comment about terrifying creatures out of her head. After seeing the humming bird he seemed to relax a bit and began pointing out various edibles along the way. She picked some roots and some wild onions at his direction and memorised the shape of the leaves for future reference.

She was wondering along, eyes darting around trying to take in as much as possible when she was suddenly brought up short by his restraining hand and an admonition to keep quiet. She looked past him and saw the duck he was eying. It was a large one, good for several meals. He drew his pistol from his belt, cocked it and carefully took aim. Sarah held her breath and couldn't quite help the small squeak she gave when he fired the gun, the retort loud at such close quarters. She lowered her hands from her ears, embarrassed at the bland look he was throwing in her direction. He walked over to the fallen duck to check if it was dead and then tied it to his belt with a certain grim satisfaction.

'Good shot,' she said feeling some praise was only polite.

'Thanks,' was his only response.

She had expected him to start back to the camp now that they had the makings of a full meal but he did not. She didn't question it, he seemed to be looking for something specific and she was content to follow along in his wake, occasionally stopping to pick some herbs to put in her rapidly filling basket.

She was digging out some more roots when he suddenly exclaimed, 'There it is,' and went striding off. He approached a tree with broad leaves and knobbly green fruits and proceeded to cut one of the fruits down before segmenting it with his knife. He came back to where she was crouched in the dirt and held a portion out to her. She took it with a quizzical tilt of her brows, holding it gingerly by the thick rind, her hand grubby from her rooting.

'It's sweetsop, try it,' he encouraged.

Sarah put the pale yellow pulp to her mouth and nibbled tentatively. It tasted like…sweet custard. She looked up at him in shock and found that he was smiling. His smile really did transform him she noted. Gone was the sullen, short tempered man of recent weeks, instead he looked boyish and pleased with himself, infinitely preferable to his intimidating scowl.

'Good isn't it?'

'It's delicious,' she said candidly. 'It tastes like custard. How is that possible?'

'I don't know but I'm not one to question a good thing.'

He saw that she had finished her piece and gave her another which she devoured.

'I thought you might like it,' he said in a satisfied tone.

'You did?' she said uncertainly.

'I did,' he said simply and turned back to the tree to gather more fruits.

Sarah stared down at the piece of fruit rind in the palm of her hand, wondering if he meant it as a peace offering of his own.


	6. Chapter 6

Bones' cursing caught Sarah's attention from across the clearing as she was cutting up roots to go into the cooking pot. He had a bucket of water and a misshapen lump of what she could only assume was soap, although she was at a loss to explain where it had come from, and was attempting to shave the rough beard he had grown in the last couple of weeks. He seemed to be struggling, the cursing she assumed the result of the cut he had just inflicted on himself that was now leaking blood down his cheek. Despite the twinge of grim satisfaction she felt at being able to add shaving to the very short list she was mentally constructing of things that he didn't do with skill, she dried her hands on her skirts and wandered over. Bones gave her a wry look as she approached.

'What I wouldn't give for a mirror right now.'

'Do you want me to do it?' she found herself saying. He looked surprised, as well he might; she was surprised herself. 'I do it for my father, his hands shake and he says his manservant is clumsy,' she said by way of explanation.

He considered her for a minute and then held out the knife he was using hilt first. She took it gingerly, wondering what she thought she was doing but pride preventing her from withdrawing her offer. She waved him off the chest and pointed with the tip of the knife.

'Kneel there' she said and he obediently bent his knees and sank to the ground. She picked up the misshapen, grey lump and smoothed it across her palm. 'Is this soap?'

'Of sorts, I made it. Rendered fat and potash.'

'I wish you'd told me you had soap,' she said with a meaningful glance. She sniffed it, then wrinkled her nose. 'It doesn't smell very nice.'

'They were all out of rose scented ones' he said. She ignored his sarcasm and handed it to him.

'Put more on, I don't want the knife to catch. Is the knife sharp?'

He complied with her direction while responding, 'As sharp as it can be.'

'Good, I wouldn't want to accidentally cut your throat,' she said dryly, watching as his eyes widened a fraction and feeling a flare of satisfaction.

'You aren't making me feel very confident in the wisdom of letting you do this.'

'As long as the knife is sharp you'll probably be fine.'

'Probably?'

She disregarded his comment and put a finger under his chin to tip his head back, warning him as she did so not to move. She carefully scraped the knife up his neck and then rinsed off the bristles of his short beard in the bucket of water. His proximity was unnerving but the knife in her hand gave her a feeling of control and calmed her nerves. She went slowly and cautiously, she didn't think she was at risk but she didn't want an accidental cut at her hand to be misconstrued. She had tipped his head to one side to do his jaw when he suddenly spoke, fortunately the knife was nowhere near his face so the start she gave at the sound of his voice had no consequences.

'You don't have to look so anxious. You've nothing to be afraid of.'

She gave him a long look. 'Keep still,' she admonished. 'I'm not the one with a knife to my throat, what do I have to fear?'

'Nothing at all,' he said. 'I, however…'

'Actually you have nothing to fear. I very much doubt I would be eating half so well if you weren't here,' she said honestly.

'Is that enough to keep me alive?'

'For now.'

She tensed as he caught her wrist before she could continue shaving him. His gaze locked hers and her heart rate increased, although she noted absently that his grip was gentle.

'I know what I did before, but I'll not harm you.'

'Trust has to be earned,' she said quietly after a pause.

'And I've a long way to go?'

'Less than you did before, but these things can't be forced.'

'Then I'll not force it.'

'Thank you.' She gave him a look, silently questioning if he was finished talking. He indicated that she should proceed and she finished his shave. He rinsed his face in the bucket of water and ran his palm across his chin.

'Not bad, and considerably better than I was doing.'

'Is your name really Billy Bones?' she asked abruptly. He looked up from the rag that he was drying his face on, a gamut of conflicting emotions chasing themselves across his face. It was something she found reassuring, his inability to hide his emotions, if she ever pushed him too far she would have some warning at least.

'Yes, well no, it's a nickname of sorts,' he said eventually. 'My given name is William Manderly.'

'Manderly,' she said, considering the sound of it and squinting at him. 'I like that.' He looked surprised but she merely shrugged, 'It's nicer than 'Bones'.'

'Is Castle your maiden name?'

'No, my mother's. I couldn't use Whetstone or Rogers when I booked my passage, my father and Woodes were too well known; it would have been noticed.'

'Did you not tell your father where you were going?'

She shook her head. 'He would have tried to stop me, he was very angry with Woodes. I sent him a letter the day we sailed. I had assumed when I reached Nassau I would be able to reassure him that I was safe and reunited with Woodes.' She sighed, 'So, that went well.'

'It might be for the best, I can only imagine what the reaction would have been if you had waltzed into Nassau and announced that you were Rogers' wife. Fuck, they'd have eaten you alive!'

'And I'm so much better off here?'

'Well, I promise I won't eat you alive.'

'You'll kill me first? How very reassuring.'

'You know that's not what…'

She cut him off before he could finish his sentence. 'I know.'

'Do you love him?' he said after a lengthy silence.

'I hardly think that is any of your business,' she said stiffly.

'Probably not,' he shrugged. 'Do you?'

'I…he…he is my husband,' she said eventually. He had seated himself on the ground, his arms wrapped around his knees and his gaze intent on her. He tilted his head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

'That doesn't answer my question.'

'I know' she said in a voice no louder than a whisper.

'So do you?'

Involuntarily she shook her head and saw him lean back as if she had answered his question, which she supposed she had. Feeling the need to explain herself she began again.

'We made a marriage of convenience, my wealth and family name for him, a husband for me. I respect and esteem him and he is my husband,' she finished firmly.

He huffed a breath from between his teeth.

'I just don't understand why you are fighting for him.'

'I didn't know what else to do,' she admitted, her voice rising a little as she continued, 'He sent me a letter from Nassau, a letter! It said our marriage was over. I only found out later it was so he could marry that…woman, but everyone else seemed to know. Before I knew what I was about my father was already rearranging my life, moving me back into the family house and calling in Woodes' debts in revenge.'

She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes and she scrubbed them away defiantly, embarrassed to be losing her outward appearance of composure.

'He was already planning my next marriage, before I had even come to terms with the end of my first, and I just couldn't bear it, I couldn't go through it again. Chattel bought and sold. At least this was my decision, my choice.'

'And a fine choice it was,' he said dryly. 'Why are you bothering? He left you for another woman, he doesn't love you.'

She glared at him, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. 'He might.'

'He won't.'

She could feel the frustration and anger building in her, partly due to the cruelty of his statement, and partly because she knew he was right, she had no illusions at her ability to seduce a man, least of all her husband, and if he was right then where did that leave her?

Still fighting the tears and failing she stood abruptly.

'I should get on with...' she gestured vaguely at the vegetables she had been cutting.

He was on his feet too, looking contrite. 'I'm sorry, that was a shitty thing to say.'

She gave a little shake of her head.

'It doesn't matter,' she said.

She turned her back on him, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and went back to her chopping, effectively ending the conversation. Bones appeared to take the hint and left the clearing but the words he had uttered lingered and as she worked she considered them. He wasn't wrong, that was the problem. She had been holding so tightly to her plan to be reunited with Woodes that she hadn't considered the possibility that once she had secured his release he wouldn't want her back, or worse, that he would and everything would return to exactly as it had been before.

She barely looked up when Bones eventually returned and went into the hut but when he emerged her sullen mood was suddenly forgotten, her attention riveted by the sight of a book in his hand.

'You have books?'

He stopped and looked down at the volume he was holding. 'Yes.'

'Many?'

'No, just a few, most of them were too badly damaged in the ship fire but I managed to salvage a small number.'

'Can I read one?' she asked hesitantly.

'You can, of course you can,' he said, his expression slightly perplexed.

'What were you going to do with that one?' Visions of him ripping out its precious pages to use as kindling sprang into her mind.

He looked at her like she was a simpleton, 'Read it, obviously.'

'Oh, I had assumed you couldn't read,' she said before she had fully considered what she was saying.

'Yes, I can read,' he said with some asperity.

'Sorry,' she said and then asked curiously, 'When did you learn?'

'My father taught me,' he said shortly before changing the subject. 'Do you want to see what I have? Some of them are in Spanish so I haven't read those. Can you read Spanish?'

She nodded.

He gestured to her to follow him to the hut where he bent down and fiddled with the rusted fastening of a heavy looking chest before flipping open the lid. In the dusty depths lay several books, the pages of some slightly crinkled as if water damaged, as well as a dried up bottle of ink, a bundle of silk scarves and a leather weapons belt. Bones placed the book he was still holding on top of the others and nodded towards them.

'Help yourself.'

She ran her hand over the leather cover, stroking the tooled inscription of the title. When she put it to one side he stopped her.

'Why not that one?' he asked.

'You're reading it, I can find a different one.' She shrugged, 'I was hoping for something a little lighter than stoic philosophy anyway.'

'Have you read it?'

'Some of it but only a small part. I prefer novels.' She was still perusing the other books, noting some Shakespeare and Milton, as well as a volume on botany, when her eyes alighted on one in Spanish. 'Ah, this one will do nicely.'

He squinted at the title. 'Don Quixote?' he said, his pronunciation was so atrocious she almost smiled but she refrained from commenting. Given the sharpness of his denial when she had suggested he might be illiterate she didn't think that now was the time to flaunt her superior education.

'I haven't read it before but I believe it's a farce. My governess didn't like me to read novels, apparently they are a bad influence on gently bred ladies.'

She stroked the cover wistfully and quoted, 'A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one.'

'Is that from the book?'

She shook her head, 'I read it somewhere once, I forget where, but it struck a chord with me. Books were my solace when…when my husband was away.'

'In Nassau?'

'And before. He had a lot of important matters to take care of that took him away from home, mostly to London. Reading passed the time, took me out of my life for a while.'

'Did you not have friends to pass the time with?'

'Some, not many. My particular friend was married just before I was and her new husband had lands in the North of England, we wrote to each other but it wasn't the same. I don't find it easy to make friends, people think me shy,' she admitted with unexpected frankness, wondering why she kept divulging personal details of her life to a common sailor. Perhaps it was that she doubted he would judge her as her peers would for not conforming to the ideals set out for young ladies, but whatever it was she could sometimes feel her façade slipping.

'You don't strike me as shy, quiet perhaps, but not shy.'

It was true, she wasn't timid or retiring but her quiet manner was often drowned out by the gregariousness of her companions. She found after a while that she had gained a reputation for shyness and as she was content to observe she did not seek to modify society's opinion of her. Gossip and conjecture interested her little and conversations of trivialities bored her. Watching people was much more entertaining, though those she observed would have been surprised and horrified by how much she correctly surmised in the course of her scrutiny.

'I'm not shy, but neither am I expansive, and apparently in society there is no middle ground. You quickly learn that if you aren't naturally vivacious to keep quiet and say only what is expected. Anything else confounds your audience.'

'What is expected?'

'Can I interest you in a polite social commonplace, a comment on the terrible weather we have been experiencing? Perhaps a succinct statement on what a sad crush the last ball we attended was? There are any number of useful phrases to have ready in case someone decides to engage you in conversation, it prevents accidentally expressing a controversial opinion or getting bored and poking fun at your conversational partner, not that most of them had the wit to realise they were being mocked,' she said rather caustically.

'No, I imagine they didn't.'

As she had been speaking Sarah had found she was almost thankful that she did not have to endure any more interminable social discourse. It was an unsettling idea that there was something, even one small thing that was an advantage of her island incarceration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little nod (or blatant stealing of his line?) to George R.R. Martin in there, absolutely not canon but I just couldn't help myself, I love that quote.


	7. Chapter 7

'I'm not sure what it is that you want me to say,' Sarah said, squinting at the sunlight flickering across the surface of the rock pool, searching for her next victim. 'There is no war, no slave uprising. At least,' she added conscientiously, 'there wasn't when I left.'

'That makes no sense,' Bones muttered almost to himself, from across the pool. Despite her initial reservations they were catching crabs, fresh ones. He claimed it was a simple thing to pluck the crabs from their hiding spots in the shadows of the tidal pools but she was sceptical on this point. However, it proved to be true and she now had three dead crustaceans lying in her basket, dispatched with a quick stab of her knife. She was currently stalking a fourth, a large one lurking in behind some seaweed that she was trying to scare out.

'There was a new Governor, a man called Feather…something, Featherstone maybe.'

He glanced up looking nonplussed.

'Featherstone is Governor?'

'Do you know him?'

'I did, but he wasn't in line to be the fucking Governor then!'

'There was some kind of treaty made with a colony of Maroons,' she continued. 'The Guthries made a trade agreement with the help of Captain Rackham and a woman, owned half of Nassau or something like that. I forget her name.'

'Max?'

'I'm not sure.'

He hesitated, seemingly reluctant to speak but said eventually, 'And Captain Flint?'

'I believe he was sent to a penal colony in Savannah, but the stories were a bit unclear on that point.'

Bones' hand shot into the water and came out clutching a thrashing crab which he dispatched with a vicious twist of his knife. She eyed him narrowly for a time.

'You seem to be rather well acquainted with them all?'

'Yes,' he acknowledged shortly.

'So when you told me you were a sailor…?' she paused and waited.

'I meant I sailed under the black.'

Her eyes widened a touch and when he looked up at her he frowned, his jaw tightening. 'Don't look at me like that, it doesn't change anything.'

'It explains a lot, but no, it doesn't change anything,' she agreed mildly. 'Miss Ashe seems to have had the right of it, she said you were just men, no better and no worse than other men.'

That caught his attention. 'Miss Ashe?'

'She is the previous Governor of Charles Town's daughter. She was captured by pirates and then they ransomed her and sacked the town, or so I read.'

'Actually, we didn't ransom her, Flint knew Ashe and returned her safe and unharmed.'

She looked at him curiously, crabs forgotten. 'You didn't sack the town?'

'Yeah, we did that,' he said with nonchalant shrug. 'They had Flint and Vane in custody, on trial to hang and Governor Ashe had killed Mrs Barlow. Flint was never going to forgive that.'

'They read Miss Ashe's diary at the trail, poor girl.'

'I know, I gave it to them.'

'You ruined her, you know.'

'Did I fuck! Not one of us laid a hand on her!' he declared hotly.

She shook her head impatiently. 'I didn't mean in the way you are thinking. I've never met her, I just read the story in the paper, with exerts of her diary.' Biting her lip, Sarah stared unseeing down the beach. 'I suppose she was already ruined having spent so much time in the company of pirates, but to have her sympathies for such men read out at the trial and then to have those same pirates sack the town and kill her father.' She looked back at him. 'Ruined you see, through no fault of her own.'

'Do you know what happened to her?'

'It was said that she had been packed off to relatives in Savannah, where no doubt…no doubt she will be forced to marry to save her reputation. Never mind the dissolute state of her future husband, he will expect her to be grateful,' she finished, a touch of bitterness colouring her tone.

Bones raised an eyebrow. 'You seem to have a certain amount of sympathy with her.'

'Well, it may not be too long before I find myself in similar circumstances, and having left England in the hopes of avoiding such a situation I can't help but find myself in sympathy with her.'

'I'm confused, you left England to avoid being forced into marriage?'

'Actually 'forced' is probably too strong a word for it. My father wants what is best for me, however, it would never occur to him to ask my opinion before he makes a decision on my behalf.' She grimaced, 'Negotiations were ongoing but a woman who has been discarded by her husband, for a known criminal of all people, should consider herself blessed to receive an offer from any gentleman, his financial situation and personal habits notwithstanding.'

'Jesus!'

'Quite. Now, of course, no gentleman of breeding will be willing to take me without heavy financial inducement which I have no idea if my father will provide, he may consider me a lost cause.'

'You seem quite calm about that.'

'Would you prefer hysteria? I am not comfortable with the realities of my situation but I made my proverbial bed and now I must lie in it,' she sighed. 'Sometimes I think it would have been better to have been born without money. I could have married a kind, simple man, one who wanted to marry me and not my father's money,' she said wistfully before looking up to find him staring at her. She flushed and resumed her search for more crabs.

The large one she had been stalking earlier was still lurking. It scuttled away from her groping hand and straight into the waiting clutches of the other. She lifted it out of the water triumphantly. It was at this point that she realised the large gap in her education, as one of the large waving claws of her intended victim fastened itself tightly around her finger and wouldn't let go. She gave a small shriek of pain and tried, without success, to tug it off.

'Ow! No! Let go you stupid creature!' she cried. Bones came sauntering over.

'Do you want some help with that?'

With as much dignity as she could muster with a crab hanging off her finger she nodded and held out her hand. He managed to maintain a serious expression but she could see the corners of his mouth twitching.

'Are you finding this amusing?' Bones didn't respond but his smirk grew. He took the claw and, avoiding the other waving appendage, carefully pulled it apart so she could draw her sore and bleeding finger free. He grabbed the crab from her hand and killed it, tossing it into her basket with the others. She watched him, sucking on her finger and thinking how much she was going to enjoy putting that one in the pot later.

'You never swear,' he said suddenly.

'Pardon?' she frowned, not understanding.

He gestured at her with his knife, 'You never swear, even when the crab is hanging off your finger you just say 'Ow'. Do you never get the urge to just shout 'fuck'?'

She blinked, 'Not really, no.'

'No even when you are stuck on an island, completely and unfairly ruined in the eyes of society, with no better prospects than a forced marriage to some drunken, lecherous, old man?'

She glared at him. 'That was cruel but no, not even then. I don't even know what it means.'

He looked momentarily taken aback but then grinned, 'You say it and I'll tell you what it means.'

'But I don't want to know what it means, how is that a compromise?'

'Okay, you say it and I'll cook dinner and wash the dishes.'

'Well, that's hardly an incentive, is it?' she said raising an eyebrow and watching as he gave a rueful grimace. 'Why are you so keen for hear me swear?'

He grinned at her again, 'You are just so prim and proper, I'm constantly tempted to try to corrupt you. Plus, I like to hear a lady swear.'

She was about to protest his description of her but in truth she couldn't really fault it, add the words dependable and dutiful, at least until she had run away from her father, and it would be a depressingly accurate summary of her character. She tried to ignore the implications of his wish to corrupt her, closed her mouth again and then said slowly, 'I feel like you're mocking me.'

'Only a little,' he admitted. She rolled her eyes at him.

'Fine, if it means that much to you, fuck.'

Bones held up a hand and cupped his ear. 'It only counts if I can actually hear it I'm afraid.'

'Fuck,' she said a fraction louder.

'Better, I could almost hear you that time. I want them to hear it in Nassau,' he encouraged her.

'This is ridiculous, you're being ridiculous!'

'Just say it.'

'Fine, fine!' Sarah took a deep breath. 'FUCK!' she all but shouted and then put her hand over her mouth in disbelief.

'I knew it would sound good with your ladylike accent.'

'So, what does it mean?' she asked.

'It has loads of uses; as a verb it describes the act of physical intimacy between a man and a woman,' she blushed when he said that but didn't stop him. 'It can be used as pretty much as a noun, an adjective, to add emphasis, or simply as an exclamation of displeasure.'

'Useful,' she said sardonically. 'So what are you making me for dinner?'

'Actually, we never formally agreed the deal, you just went right ahead and said it. And let's be honest, it's better for both of us if you cook.'

She opened her mouth, then shut it again, realising that he was right. Rocking back on her heels she met his amused gaze.

'Well, Fuck!' she said.

For the first time since she had met him he laughed out loud, a deep resonant chuckle that judging by the look on his face took him as much by surprise as it did her.

* * *

The ache in her belly had warned Sarah of the imminent arrival of her woman's curse. It had never been that regular, something the physician had intimated might be a reason for her difficulty in conceiving, bad humours trapped in her body or some such thing. She was at a loss for some time as to what to do given that she had taken to wearing only two white petticoats which would not hide anything from Bones' prying eyes. She seriously considered putting on her skirt, which being dark green would hide all that she wished to remain hidden. However, her problems with this were two fold, firstly the material was hot and heavy and would hinder her movements, and secondly doing so would draw attention to her predicament given that she hadn't worn the garment since she had thrown it violently into her chest a few days after meeting Bones. He was bound to ask what had caused her sudden change in apparel.

In the end she had fashioned herself a sort of belt from twine she discretely removed from their stores and some rags of fabric. It was not very comfortable but it didn't show and it was reasonably efficient at absorbing the flow of blood so she was pleased with her ingenuity, and other than the pain in her back and the unreasoning want to throw something at Bones on a daily basis she was able to continue as if nothing were amiss.

Bones was out hunting so she had had a quick wash in the pool, changed her rags and then gone to the stream to wash the soiled ones from the previous day. She was rinsing them in the running water of the stream when Bones' spoke behind her, sounding concerned. She almost dropped the rags into the water, for such a large man he could move almost silently.

'Are you bleeding? Where is it from?'

She grimaced, she was reasonably sure that he didn't want an factually accurate answer to that question, men usually like to pretend that aspect of being a lady didn't exist. He put his hand under her shoulder and hauled her to her feet, turning her to face him, all the while his eyes roving over her trying to discern the source of her injury. She pulled away from him, unnerved by his manhandling of her and discretely folded the dripping wet rags as much as possible to hide them in her hand.

'I'm not injured, I'm fine.'

'There's blood, why are you lying to me?' he said accusingly.

'There is blood,' she acknowledged, 'but there is nothing wrong with me, aside from a little back ache.'

She was strangely touched how alarmed he appeared to be on her behalf but mortification was her overriding emotion. Unfortunately he seized on her comment about her back without really listening to her other words and immediately turned her to check for injuries.

'Billy. Billy!' she said exasperated, giving him a speaking look. 'There is nothing wrong with me, other than my monthly blood.' She felt her cheeks burn and saw the answering flush creep up his neck as he finally understood her meaning.

'Oh, sorry. Um…I…caught a pig, for dinner. I'll…leave you to…um…finish…' he stammered out. With impressive poise Sarah inclined her head, still hiding her rags in her hand.

'Thank you. Pork sounds lovely.'

'Can I do anything for you, to help?'

'Unless you have a warming pan hidden somewhere then not really,' she said pulling a face.

'A warming pan?'

'It helps with the pain, something warm on my stomach.'

'Oh, I'm afraid not.'

'I didn't think so.' She turned to resume her washing and he left her to it. When she returned to their camp with her now clean rags, which she hung up to dry out of sight, he came out of the hut looking unsure of himself.

'I made you this, it might work, I'm not sure,' he said holding out a glass flask wrapped in cloth, the stopper in the top. She took it from him uncertainly and seeing her frown he explained. 'I filled it with hot water.'

Her brow cleared as she suddenly understood and he looked relieved.

'Thank you,' she said fervently, pressing it to her abdomen and immediately feeling the comforting warmth.

'Is it very bad?'

'The pain? No, not that bad, just uncomfortable. This will help.'

She turned away from him and went to find her comb. Seating herself on the chest, warm bottle in her lap, she loosened her hair from the knot she had tied it in while bathing. She considered the drying mass of her hair, tangled and damp, and wondered if she should ask Billy to cut some of it off. She thought it would be more practical if it was shorter but her hair had always been her private vanity. She was no beauty but her hair was a rich chestnut colour and fell naturally in loose curls. Even Woodes, who had no interest in her beyond her wealth and ability to provide him with an heir, had occasionally run his fingers through her curls as if he appreciated them. It was his one tender gesture and it made her sentimental. She pulled the mass over one shoulder and working from the ends began to comb out the snarls. While she combed she surreptitiously watched Billy prepare the pig carcass for cooking. He worked quickly and with some skill and it was only a short time before it was skewered and he was hanging it over the fire. She dropped her eyes as soon as he looked up, concentrating on the task in hand. When she glanced up again he was standing next to the cooking pig watching her.

'You have a lot of hair,' he stated.

'I was just wondering if I should ask you to cut some of it off.'

'That'd be a shame,' he said and then looked abashed but added, 'It's nice.'

She felt her face grow warm at the unexpected compliment, mild though it was. 'It's rather impractical and hot sometimes,' she said candidly.

Billy rubbed his cropped hair, 'I'm not sure I'm the best person to cut your hair, unless this is the look you're going for?'

'I'm not sure it would suit me.'

'But it would be cooler and more practical.'

'There is that,' she said reflectively. 'I'll think on it.'

When she looked up again he was smiling slightly at her.

'I can't tell sometimes if you're serious.'

'I'm always serious,' she said solemnly.

His smile widened and he narrowed his eyes at her. 'See, I have no idea.'

She didn't respond, just continued slowly combing her hair. It was odd, she had in recent days noticed that she was enjoying her conversations with Billy more and more, he was far better educated than she had assumed and seemed to understand her sly humour in a way that she had not experienced before. Most people assumed that she was serious and thought her humourless. She didn't need to watch her tongue around him, she could say anything she pleased and he would never be shocked or horrified. He would never give her a scandalised sidelong glance because he had considered her words to be unladylike, if anything it seemed to amuse him. It was rather liberating and as with her stays she wondered how she would respond to the renewal of all those restrictions when she returned to civilisation.

* * *

Sarah was returning to the hut with a basket full of wild onions and a small fern-like plant the botany book called Gale of Wind, when the rain started falling, gently at first and then increasingly heavily. She gave an exasperated sigh, Billy had warned her it would rain but she had ignored him, determined to search for the plant that the book mentioned was good for reducing fevers. She was wearing her hat but otherwise was unprotected and although the forest foliage was thick overhead large droplets of rain were still finding their way through the leaves. She spotted a tree with good overhead coverage and sort shelter underneath. It wasn't perfect, her neck and shoulders still got damp but it was better than nothing and sufficed until the short but torrential rainstorm had run its course. While she waited she noticed that the tree she was standing under had a profusion of green apple-like fruits that she had not seen before so she plucked a couple and added them to her basket, intending to show them to Billy case they were edible.

It was about half an hour later as she wandered back towards the shelter that her neck and forearms started to sting. She rubbed absently at her arm and then winced in pain as the tender skin flared under her touch, wondering if she had somehow managed to get sunburn whilst gathering. It seemed unlikely given that she had been careful to avoid the sunlight as much as possible but she couldn't explain the sudden agony any other way. Increasing her pace she hurried towards camp, and Billy. Billy would know what to do. Her heart was hammering and her breath coming out in short gasps as the pain and her panic increased and she began calling her companion's name, although she was still some way away. A tree root tripped her and she staggered, dizzy and disorientated, her sight blurring. A lump formed in the back of her throat that she couldn't swallow, making it harder to take a breath and preventing her from further cries for help, and all the while her skin prickled and burned.

She stopped suddenly, choking on panicked breaths as her vision began to darken and her head swam queasily, before she slumped unconscious to the forest floor. As she fell the basket dropped, onions and green fruits rolling across the ground unheeded.


	8. Chapter 8

Pressure on the back of her throat roused her to consciousness, gagging and choking. She could hear someone saying her name in anxious tones, and she fought to open eyes that felt heavy and swollen as if she had been weeping. Realising that her head was cushioned on Billy's shoulder and it was his fingers pressing on the back of her throat she tried weakly to push him away and opened her eyes.

'Thank fuck!' Billy exclaimed, swiftly drawing his hand back and making her cough feebly.

Still holding her he pointed to the apple-like fruits amongst her scattered onions.

'Sarah, this is important, did you eat any of those, even just a bite?'

Sarah turned her head to look at the green fruits and said hoarsely, 'No! I brought them back for you to see. I didn't eat anything, it's my skin, it burns!'

His tight grip on her relaxed slightly and he sighed gustily in apparent relief.

'I think I know what's wrong with you. Did you shelter from the rain under a tree with shiny green leaves and reddish grey bark?'

'I…I don't know, I think so. What is it? It hurts!' She twisted in his grip, trying to escape the unwelcome pressure on her inflamed skin.

'I'm going to do something about that but you are going to need to do exactly what I say. You're going to be fine, especially as you haven't eaten any of those fruits, but I need to get the poison off you.'

'The poison?' she squeaked, ceasing her squirming.

'That burning on your arms it's poison from the tree, I'm going to wash it off. It will be sore for a few of days but it will heal. Now, close your eyes and keep them closed until I say so.'

She frowned up at him. 'Why do I need to close my eyes?'

'For fuck's sake, what did I just say? If the poison gets in your eyes you might go blind. Now shut them.'

She swiftly did as she was told.

'Can you stand?' he said. Her legs felt shaky, the dizziness of her faint still upon her but she nodded uncertainly and using his shoulder for support attempted to lever herself up. He stilled her with gentle pressure on her shoulder.

'I don't think that's going to work,' he said and she felt him slip his hands under her knees and her shoulders and pick her up.

Even her discomfort didn't stop her from silently marvelling at his ability to lift her as if she weighed nothing more than a feather. For a woman she was exceptionally tall, standing even an inch or two taller than her husband in her stockinged feet and yet not a single grunt of exertion escaped Billy as he stood and set off with jolting strides towards the distant rushing sound of the waterfall.

His arms around her were like iron, his broad chest warm against her side and he smelt of wood smoke, his capable presence an unexpected balm easing her panic. She was surprised but it was undeniable that her first instinct had been to run to him, that she had known in the depths of her fright that he would know how to ease her suffering. She was pondering this revelation, gritting her teeth against the burning pain, when the roar of the waterfall in her ears told her they had reached the pool and Billy set her gently on the ground.

'Take your hat and skirts off,' he said gruffly and she heard a clinking noise of metal on metal followed by the slap of leather as he took off his belt and threw it on the ground. She opened her mouth to protest and then clamped her lips firmly together and fumbled blindly with the ties of her petticoat. There was a rustle and the tapping of wooden beads as he discarded his shirt. She unknotted the strings and pushed down her skirts, stepping unsteadily out of them and as she did so his hand clasped hers and the other slipped under her elbow to support her. Then she felt his warm fingers lift her chin as he unknotted and removed her hat with a sweep that fanned cooling air onto her hot cheeks. Without warning he picked her up again and there was a splash and a swish of water as he began to wade into the pool. She felt relief that he had allowed her to keep the relative modesty provided by her chemise. The cool water lapped at her feet and then gradually crept up her body as he waded further into the water. She put a hand on his chest to steady herself and gave a stifled gasp when her hand came into contact with his bare skin. She removed it immediately but then finding nowhere else to put it, gingerly replaced it and tried not to think about his unclothed state.

'Sarah, I'm going to put you in the water properly now, I need to wash all the poison off to stop the swelling and cool the burns,' Billy said, his breath warm on her ear.

'Swelling? What swelling?' she asked distracted.

'The swelling on your face.'

'My face has swelled up?' she exclaimed, putting her hands up to her cheeks, which sure enough felt puffy and sore.

She felt the rumble of laughter in his chest and then he lowered her so she was submerged up to her neck in the water. He began to rub at her forearms, sluicing fresh water across them, cooling the tender skin. His arm was firmly around her waist holding her against him as he began the same process on her neck until he suddenly cursed and she felt the fabric of her chemise give and tear down the back.

'Shit, sorry, I tore your chemise,' he said apologetically.

She gave a long-suffering sigh.

'It's fine, I can sew it up.'

He continued to sluice water down her back. She felt strange to have this man pressed so intimately against her, his hands brushing against her arms and down her back, when she had spent so much time keeping her wary distance but her distrust seemed to have evaporated somewhere along the line and her only feeling now was resigned mortification.

'You need to wash your face.' Billy's voice in her ear startled her out of her reverie. 'I'll keep hold of your hand, just duck under and rinse it. I think your hat probably protected you from the worst of it but best to be safe.'

'I can swim, Billy,' she pointed out a little tartly.

'I know,' he said patiently, 'but you also fainted and I don't want you to drown as well as being poisoned.'

'You don't?' she said softly.

'Of course I fucking don't!' he said half exasperated, half amused. She didn't answer but let go of his shoulders, treading water as his hand found hers and then ducking under to rinse her face. She held her breath as long as she could and then burst to the surface gasping. Billy immediately pulled her back to him, clasping her around the waist and smoothing drops of water from her face. His touch was gentle, a whispering caress that belied the iron strength in his arms and chest.

'You can open your eyes now,' he said, 'but if you feel any burning then get them in water straight away.'

She nodded to show that she understood and then, blinking furiously to remove the water drops clinging to her eyelashes, she opened her eyes. Billy's face loomed just above her, blue eyes fixed on her face, looking concerned.

'Can you see properly?'

'I think so, nothing is blurred or anything, and no pain or burning.'

'Good.' He smiled. 'That's a relief. I once knew a man who had done exactly what you did only the fucking idiot rubbed his eyes with sap on his hands. He went blind almost straight away. He got better but his eyes were never the same.'

He shifted his grip on her waist and she put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Unable to hold his gaze she looked away and asked, 'Is my face very bad?'

His fingers under her chin brought her head gently back to look at him. He was smiling.

'Your face is fine, just a little swelling around the eyes but it will go down in a couple of hours. The burns will take a few days but you just need to keep them cool and try not to scratch when the itching starts.'

'Itching too? I'll look forward to that,' she said dryly.

He laughed but trailed off rather awkwardly as he looked at her. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest under her hand, matching the fluttering pulse of her own heart as confusion and some other emotion she couldn't name warred inside her. She felt oddly ensnared by his intense gaze, unable look away. He wet his lips and she watched as the pink tip of his tongue traced along his lower lip, an action that made it difficult for her to draw a breath.

A bird suddenly took flight from the canopy with a loud squawk and Billy looked up with a frown, clearing his throat before abruptly letting go of her waist and catching her hand to tug her towards the shore. She allowed herself to be pulled along, both her mind and her heart racing. Once ashore he picked up her hat, its securing fabric and her petticoats and washed them thoroughly in the shallows. He kept his eyes averted from her as he wrung out the fabric and put the bundle down on the ground, as if suddenly embarrassed, but it was only when she looked down at herself she realised the modesty she imagined her chemise gave her was entirely an illusion, particularly when soaking wet and slipping off her shoulders. She felt blood rush into her cheeks and bent to quickly gather her things.

'I should go back and find something to wear,' she said in a strangled tone.

Billy didn't look up but replied, 'That might be a good idea, there are some shirts in the trunk in the hut that you can use.'

She hurried quickly down the path towards the hut and didn't look back, so never caught him staring intently after her retreating form.

* * *

Back in the hut she found a shirt to wear. It was naturally far too big for her but she rolled the sleeves up and once tucked into her skirts decided it would suffice until she had mended her chemise, which she had hung with her petticoats to dry on the line. Billy followed not long after but it was enough time for her to have regained her composure and she noted he tapped discreetly on the wooden frame of the door and awaited her invitation before he entered. Her arms were still sore, despite the wash he had given her so she was relieved to see that he was carrying a bucket of water and several damp rags.

He held them up and said, 'I thought this might cool the burning. There's not a lot else we can do about it unless I can find some aloe. It'll get better but will take some time.'

He put the bucket down and threw the rags in then indicated that she should sit on the roughly constructed bed. It had a makeshift rush mattress covered with some threadbare blankets but it was not as comfortable as her hammock. He wet one of the rags in the bucket and squeezing out the excess water pulled her shirt back and placed it on her skin. She sighed with relief at the sensation of cool water and allowed him to do the same to her arms.

'You should probably get some sleep, it will speed up the healing. I'll bring you some dinner in a bit,' he said.

'Here? I can't take your bed,' she said, glancing round the hut.

'I can sleep in the hammock, it's no bother,' he said with a shrug.

Sarah wasn't feeling in the slightest bit tired but she didn't want to dislodge the cooling rags so she acquiesced to his directive to rest, taking up the botany book and studying the preparation of the herbs she had picked earlier. Later he brought her a plate of stew and some fruit, replaced her wraps and left her to it. She could hear him moving around outside, stoking the fire and washing the dishes. When he came back to check on her before going to bed she sat up to allow him access to her back and watched as he once more wet the rags and began laying them on her.

'Thank you for looking after me.'

He looked a bit embarrassed and ducked his head almost shyly.

'Well, you're practically crew now.'

'Crew?'

'Yes,' he said firmly.

'Does that make you Captain?' she asked. A shadow passed across his face, so quickly she thought she might have imagined it, a brief vision of apparent anger and self-disgust. Whatever it had been it was gone in an instant, his mask of good humour back in place.

'Christ, no! I never wanted to be Captain.'

'Well, it can't be me, I haven't a heaven sent clue what I'm doing,' she paused thoughtfully. 'I think we should put it to the vote.'

His explanations of the democratic voting system aboard a pirate ship had fascinated her. It seemed so civilised and fair and quite at odds with all of her preconceived ideas of pirates and he had spent some time patiently answering her myriad questions.

He finished wrapping her arm and smiled slowly.

'Fine, but then we will have a vote for the new Quartermaster.'

'Aye, Captain.'

He fought it but his lips twitched and she found herself smiling tentatively up at him. He looked surprised but smiled back, then a brief flash of alarm lit his features and he bid her a rather hurried goodnight and was gone.

* * *

The next morning her arms were still sore but markedly improved from the day before. She dressed herself in Billy's shirt and her petticoat, washed her face, which was no longer swollen as far as she could tell, and left the hut. Billy was tending the fire but paused to greet her and ask how she was feeling. She reassured him that she felt fine, despite a little pain. She went to find her basket, gathering all the fallen edibles, the green fruits included, picking them up dubiously by the stalks.

'Billy, what do I do with these?' she asked coming back into camp and holding one up for his inspection. He looked around from the fire pit and narrowed his eyes.

'Chuck 'em in the forest and then wash your hands in the stream.'

'Are they really that dangerous?'

'I'm not sure, but the Spanish call them something like 'little apple of death' so I think we should definitely err on the side of fucking caution, don't you?'

'Definitely,' she agreed and then did as he had suggested, giving the onions and herbs a rinse in the stream just to be on the safe side. He was seated by the fire when she came back and he patted the seat next to him.

'Come here, I want to have another look at your arms.'

She trotted over obediently and sat down, holding out her arms to him. He inspected them closely and then her neck. She tried not to shiver at the sensation of his breath on the back of her neck.

'Well?'

'I think you'll live,' he said with a smile.

'Well, that is a relief,' she said getting briskly to her feet and brushing invisible dirt from the front of her skirts. 'Heaven knows you wouldn't be able to survive without me' she added as she went to the other chest to pull out a shallow bottomed pan.

When she turned he was looking at her with an arrested expression on his face that she couldn't quite read. Her movement seemed to bring back to himself and he smiled easily.

'No I wouldn't, what would I do without you here to cook my meals and wash my clothes?'

'You'd revert to savagery within the week, I'm sure. Did you catch any fish yesterday?'

He nodded and strode into the hut to fetch them. Sarah cut up her onions while Billy filleted and cleaned the fish. She had made it very clear to him that if she was going to be cooking the fish he caught she would only do so on the understanding that they came to her ready for the pot. He had attempted to protest but on this she had stood firm. Chopping up some herbs and slicing some sour orange slices she accepted the fish from Billy with a small smile of thanks and stuffed the inner cavities of both fish with the mixture of onions and herbs, laying the orange slices on top and pinning the fish closed with some small sharp twigs.

Once the fish were sizzling gently in the pan she pulled her now dry chemise down from the line and inspected the tear in the back. She tutted a bit at the size of it but was relieved to see it was relatively neat. She found her sewing kit in her trunk and took out one of her precious needles and some green thread. Seating herself by the fire she began to sew up the rip. Billy reappeared with a stack of wood which he dropped in the pile next to the fire before inspecting the underside of the cooking fish. She watched him pluck a stray piece of crispy skin off and pop in in his mouth.

'Stop picking…' she said with a tut to which he responded by grinning unrepentantly at her.

'Sorry, but you shouldn't make it so delicious if you don't want me to try it.'

She ducked her head to hide a smile and then held up her chemise. 'I tutted because of this. Could you have made any more of a mess of it, the one item of clothing I possess?'

'I've seen the stays and bodice so don't tell me you have nothing else to wear, besides that shirt is very fetching.'

Sarah regarded the over large shirt somewhat sceptically for a moment.

'Fine, the one item of clothing I have that is suitable for this climate,' she retorted, then shuddered dramatically. 'Don't mention those terrible stays ever again, if there is one thing to be said for living like a savage it is the freedom from stays!'

Billy laughed and then said, 'I really didn't mean to tear it you know. It could've been worse, I could've made you take the whole thing off?'

Flushing to the roots of her hair she looked up reproachfully and found him regarding her, eyes brimming with mischief.

'Sorry, I couldn't resist,' he said sounding not in the slightest bit contrite.

She pressed her rebellious lips into a thin line and bent her head to her sewing once more, refusing to dignify his teasing with a response. She sewed up the rent in no time while Billy read his book and occasionally flipped the cooking fish. After they had eaten she took up her chemise again staring, dissatisfied, at the green thread for some time. Though her stitching was as neat as ever there really was no disguising the original tear, the thread contrasting starkly with the white of her chemise. Billy looked up briefly when she got up but didn't say anything until she returned from quick foray into the forest with two supple twigs that she proceed to lash into rough circles with some short bits of twine.

'What are you doing?' he asked as he watched her fiddle with the smaller of the two hoops she had created. She placed the fabric of her chemise over the smaller hoop, adjusting it so the stitching of the tear was in the centre and then placed the larger hoop over the top. It wasn't perfect but the weave of the fabric prevented the hoops sliding about too much. She brandished it triumphantly at him.

'I'm making an embroidery hoop.'

He raised an eyebrow, 'An embroidery hoop? Just the thing for surviving on a deserted island.'

'You'd be surprised, it might be just the thing to stop me being driven out of my senses through boredom and slaughtering all my companions.'

'In that case, I'll shut the fuck up.'

'Do that' she said and began to embellish her stitches with a design of vines and leaves. He left her to it for a time but eventually came over to examine her work.

'That looks nice, but why are you doing it?'

She shrugged, 'It's relaxing and I like doing it. Keeps my hands busy and my mind free to wander.' She inspected the leaf she had just finished, 'Besides, it looks pretty.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are interested, the tree that poisoned Sarah is the Manchineel (Hippomane Mancinella), is native to the Bahamas and is considered one of the most poisonous trees in the world. The Spanish name apparently really does translate as 'little apple of death' and standing under the tree in a rainstorm would produce symptoms similar to Sarah's. Obviously I am no expert but I have tried to make it as realistic as possible.


	9. Chapter 9

_Woodes kisses her worshipfully, whispering her name, sweet words of apology and promise. She chases the soft touch of his lips as he pulls away and caresses the curve of her jaw, his thumb stroking her bottom lip. The sheets beneath her are silken against her skin and she arches her back against the sensuous feel of them, pressing herself closer to her husband. He gives a penitent sigh, kissing her again and she feels something wild and fierce flare up inside her, the sudden urge to howl her triumph to the world._

_He is mine!_

_He strokes her skin reverently, and she glories in every gentle caress and softly worded assurance, feeling safe and loved in his strong arms. She traces the corded muscles of his broad shoulders and chest, revelling in the feel of his bronzed skin, smooth beneath her inquisitive fingers. The feel of his large, gifted hands on her body yield a heady rush of sensation making her hum with pleasure and bringing an answering low groan of satisfaction from the man before her. She takes his face in her hands, the scruff of his beard scratching pleasantly on the skin of her palms and kisses him deeply. When she pulls away and looks into his eyes she sees not the stormy blue-grey she expects but a much brighter blue, like the sun warmed shallows._

Sarah sat up with a jerk, breathing heavily. Her hammock, ever alert to an imprudent movement, twisted beneath her, wobbling momentarily before sending her tumbling to the ground where an exposed tree root met her elbow. She let out a sharp cry of pain, slumping where she had landed and rubbing her throbbing elbow, cursing silently. She heard movement from the hut and rolled her eyes unseen by anyone.

_Perfect._

Billy's voice sounded in the darkness, concerned.

'Sarah?'

'Billy.'

'You cried out?'

He came out of the hut as he spoke, the moon throwing out enough light that she could see his silhouette against the silver night. He was shirtless, though she supposed she should be thankful that he was at least wearing trousers, the man had no sense of decorum. She was also grateful that the darkness would hide her rosy cheeks.

'I fell from my hammock, and hit my elbow,' she explained, hoping to hurry him back to bed. It didn't work, he came towards her and held out a hand. She hesitated for a second and then clasped it, allowing him to pull her up and releasing him as soon as she found her footing.

'I had a bad dream and I must have shifted in my sleep,' she said, crossing her arms across her chest. The threadbare blanket she slept with, more for decencies sake than out of necessity, lay in a heap at her feet and she was conscious that her shift did not cover her lower legs.

'Oh, I thought I heard you say my name,' Billy said.

_Good grief!_

'You were in my dream, I think,' she said quickly, mind working feverishly. 'I dreamt about the storm but you were on the ship too.'

 _That was good, safe. No difficult questions to be asked about that,_ she thought, pleased with her lie.

The answer seemed to satisfy him.

'Are you sure you're okay?'

'I'm fine, just a bruised elbow and wounded pride.'

She saw the pale flash of his teeth in the dim light as he yawned and then smiled, raising a hand to tuck a trailing lock of her hair behind her ear. Sarah tensed in astonishment. He smoothed the strands down and then said, 'I'd better go back to bed then,' apparently unaware of her reaction his absent-minded gesture.

'Yes, sleep well,' she managed to say.

'I'll try, if you could keep the noise down,' he said in an amused tone, walking away.

'Goodnight Billy,' she said in parting.

'Goodnight Sarah,' he responded, already at the door of the hut. He ducked inside and she let out a long breath. She turned and clambered carefully back onto her hammock, lying on her back, her mind a whirl.

Trying not to think of her dream proved all but impossible when flashes of recollection kept imposing themselves upon her thoughts; smooth skin under her fingertips, tender, sweet kisses, the sensuous caress of gentle hands. She resolutely ignored the fact that Woodes had never had such tanned skin, nor the muscular frame. The dream reminded her painfully of the naïve daydreams she had entertained prior to her marriage when she had been innocent of relations between men and women and excited to welcome her husband to her bed, woefully ignorant of what was to come.

Her maid had taken down her hair at her request as she was prepared for bed on her wedding night, arranging it artfully over one shoulder in loose curls. Her ministrations were accompanied by sly comments and knowing smiles that Sarah hadn't understood and didn't dare question. Had it been her own maid maybe she would have shyly asked what would happen but the woman fussing with her hair was her husband's servant, newly recruited to serve the young mistress, and as such Sarah was loath to parade her ignorance in front of this sharp faced female.

There had been no-one to tell the new bride what to expect but she had lain in her bed awaiting her husband with nervous anticipation. She had not realised it would hurt, although it only really hurt the first time, subsequent intimacies being only uncomfortable, and she had not realised that within minutes of completing his duty Woodes would absent himself with a cool goodnight. She had vaguely thought that there might be kisses involved, some words of affection but Woodes instead had always conducted himself with a coldness that she found at first bewildering, then intimidating and she quickly learned to lie quietly until it was over. It hadn't taken her long to come to the conclusion that her husband viewed her as a convenient source of wealth and heirs and nothing more.

She had lain alone in the aftermath of that first time, her thighs sticky and sore, teetering between the urge to weep and the urge to laugh. She had cleaned herself up at the porcelain basin, ignoring the red tinted water, reluctant to call her maid and have a witness to her shame and Woodes' disregard. Afterwards she had crawled into her bed, skin creeping when it came into contact with the cold, wet stain on her sheets, and pondered what had just occurred. Even she, sheltered as she was, had heard certain rumours that abounded in society of women who had committed the ultimate sin against their husbands and now these rumours made even less sense to her. There seemed no rational reason to cuckold your husband if this was the secret that lay between the sheets of the marriage bed. For duty or for position she could somewhat comprehend but if neither of those things were on offer, what possible reason would anyone willingly go to a man's bed? It made no sense at all.

The next morning she had burned with humiliation when her maid had come to help her dress for the day. It was impossible that the servants would not know her shame, the servants knew everything, and there was no hiding her husband's absence or her pale listless demeanour in the place of the expected blushing bride. Unlike the previous evening, her maid refrained from comment for which Sarah was profoundly grateful, although it only confirmed that the woman was well aware of what had transpired between the newlyweds and made Sarah's mortification all the worse. Sarah dismissed her as quickly as possible, making a light comment regarding Woodes being called away by his man of business that rang hollow in her own ears and, she had no doubt, didn't fool her handmaid for a second.

* * *

Her thoughts raced as she carefully inscribed another number onto the corner of the card she was restoring, aided by a crude duck feather quill and a bottle of very grainy ink rescued from the trunk in the hut. Half the pack already lay on the ground around her, secured with small stones, drying in the sun. Billy was sitting in the shade of one of the trees sharpening the axe, stone screeching against the metal with each pass.

Each swirling thought gave rise to so many emotions and questions, clamouring for an explanation which was beyond her. Woodes and _that_ woman, the dream, rumours she had heard in Bristol, the comments of her maid on the night of her wedding. There was a suggestion of something there that she was missing, some piece of knowledge, and it rankled.

She looked over at her fellow castaway, wondering if she had the courage to ask him. He would not be scandalised by her indelicate question but she was loath to expose her ignorance to him, particularly on such an intimate subject. She gave herself a mental shake, trying to focus on her labours, placing a newly annotated card to dry with the others, but those unwelcome thoughts kept intruding.

Billy would probably know the answer, she had no misapprehensions regarding his or any other man's chastity. Although his understanding of a woman's perspective might be lacking, he was her only recourse if she wished for this mystery to be explained.

Eventually she said very tentatively, 'Billy?'

The sharpening of the axe drowned her out and he didn't look up so she tried again, a little louder, in the pause between scrapes. He glanced over and she immediately fell to regarding the card in front of her.

'Yes?'

Taking her fence in a rush she blurted out her question, 'Why do people have affairs?'

She heard him put down the axe but didn't look up.

'What?'

'What I mean to say is, well, you said that women come to your bed willingly but I don't understand why they would,' she said, already feeling flustered and regretting the impulse that had made her speak in the first place.

'You are struggling to understand why a woman would come willingly to my bed?' he said so dryly that she was forced to meet his gaze. He was regarding her with a slightly mocking expression on his face. 'I'm of a mind to be insulted.'

'Oh no, that's not what I…I mean…I meant any man's bed. Not you specifically.'

She could feel her cheeks redden as she struggled to get her words out. This had been a very bad idea but she had started it now so had no choice but to go on. He was looking at her with an expression of blank incomprehension, clearly perplexed by her question.

'Were you married to any of the women?' she asked, ducking her head and replenishing the ink on her quill.

'Was I married to any of which women?'

'The women that you….'

'Fucked?' he supplied helpfully with raised brows. Her face was flaming now at his coarseness but she nodded. 'No, I was not.'

'Did you pay them?'

He had the grace to look sheepish.

'Occasionally,' he admitted, 'but not always.'

'You see, that is what I don't understand, if not duty or perhaps for money why would they?'

He was looking at her like she was an idiot and she was fairly certain she had inadvertently offended him.

'Pleasure, fun, companionship,' he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She blinked and squinted uncertainly at him.

'Pleasure?'

'Yes, pleasure. Surely…' he stopped and she noticed he was frowning now. She shrank from further exposing her naïveté to his searching stare and tried turn aside his curiosity with airy unconcern, but what she had hoped would come across as nonchalance sounded more like babbling to her ears.

'I see, I thought that there must be something more to it. There was always gossip in Bristol and I couldn't fathom why anyone would risk their social standing for the sake of something that was rather uncomfortable and not very pleasant.'

Her light tone had clearly failed to discourage him, his frown had deepened and he was getting to his feet.

She said rather breathlessly, 'It was a silly question, it doesn't matter', hoping that he would take the hint and let the matter drop but when she looked up he was right in front of her, kneeling on the other side of the chest she was using as a table and regarding her with such a concerned look that her heart gave an odd little stutter.

'Uncomfortable?'

She didn't know what to say so she just nodded. She wanted to look away but his gaze had her caught. There was an expression of pity in his eyes that made her want to weep but she wasn't sure why.

'Sarah,' he said her name so softly it was almost a caress, 'it shouldn't hurt, at least not after the first time,' he amended.

'I said 'uncomfortable',' she said, embarrassment making her pedantic.

'It shouldn't be uncomfortable then. A man can make it so…fuck! How can I explain this? If a man knows how to please a woman she can enjoy it too.'

She considered his words thoughtfully, worrying her thumb nail with her teeth.

'Well, that explains a lot.'

He sat back on his heels and smiled at her dry tone. She couldn't help but smile too, although it was a little forced and her mind was still racing with this new information.

That there could be a pleasurable side to the act had simply not occurred to her, although she was not entirely convinced that Billy was correct in his assessment, he was a man after all. What did he really know of a woman's pleasure? That being said, it would explain a great deal. However much she might like to deny it, Woodes was not an attentive husband and pleasing her had never been high on his list of priorities. She looked up to find Billy regarding her seriously.

'Will you tell me?' he said gently. She heaved a sigh.

'I don't really know what to tell you.'

'Why did you marry him?'

'You know why, and you say it like I had much of a choice,' she said with weary exasperation. 'Our fathers were friends, he lived in the house next door, he was of a good lineage, my father had money and a marriage between the families was of obvious mutual benefit. That being said, I was pleased initially, he was handsome, a gentleman on the rise and I falsely assumed that he had expressed some affection for me.'

'Jesus! What did he do?'

She shook her head, 'Don't misunderstand me. He was never cruel, he never beat me, he was just…indifferent. I came to the marriage assuming that at some stage there would be mutual affection, or at the very least respect, but once we were married he spent as little time in the presence of his wife as possible.' Raising her eyes to his, she said frankly, 'It is a very difficult thing to seduce your husband when he simply isn't there. He did his duty and I did mine but given what you've just told me there could have been a good deal _more_.'

'Did no-one…well, tell you?'

'There wasn't really anyone to tell me, had it even occurred to me to ask. My mother died before I married and I couldn't put something like that in a letter to Mary. My father just told me to do my duty, provide Woodes with some heirs.'

'You never mentioned…'

'It wasn't to be,' she said dully, stifling the anguish that threatened to choke her. 'Only once was I with child and she came too soon, she was too small. I didn't even get a chance to name her. It took such a long time I had started to think there was something wrong with me. I was so happy when I realised, I thought maybe it would animate Woodes' affection towards me, but it was just a further wedge to drive between us. He was unimpressed with a daughter and found my grief excessive, I think. He was home even less after that.'

Billy plucked the quill from her unresisting fingers and took her hand, warming its cold numbness with his own.

'And then he came here?'

She accepted his silent consolation for a moment and then carefully withdrew her hand from his.

'Yes, and made his second marriage, the irony of which is not lost on me. There was I trying my best to be the perfect, pious and dutiful wife, as I had always been taught to be, and he left me for a woman who I can only assume was neither pious or dutiful.'

'No she was not,' Billy said rather too emphatically.

'Whom he promptly got with child.'

'Ah,' he exhaled softly.

'Yes, that upset me somewhat,' she said dryly before lapsing into silence.

Eventually her curiosity got the better of her.

'You knew her.'

It was a statement rather than a question and Billy cocked his head at her.

'Eleanor Guthrie?' she clarified. He nodded but didn't elaborate. She huffed in exasperation. 'Tell me about her.'

'You sure you want to talk about her?'

'No, not really but I want to understand why my husband left me for a criminal. The papers called her the Pirate Queen.'

'She wasn't our queen,' he said with a wry grin. 'Though she did rule us with a rod of iron. No pirate crossed Eleanor Guthrie lightly, as Charles Vane learned to his cost.'

'What did she do?' Sarah asked, her imagination conjuring up lurid images of a violent harpy, men cowering at her feet.

'She made it impossible for him to trade in Nassau, ruined him as a Captain.'

He chuckled at her expression.

'You look disappointed.'

'I just thought, I don't know what I thought but it was more…dramatic than interfering with his trade interests.'

His face fell suddenly, 'She did worse later, she and Rogers, but that's a story for another day.'

Billy's grim expression and clear disinclination to discuss the matter further made Sarah bite back her next question and instead she asked, 'Was she very beautiful?'

He eyed her cautiously, she could tell he was weighing his words.

'Yes.'

'Of course she was,' she said glumly.

She looked up to find him staring, a troubled expression on his face.

'It was inevitable, Woodes always liked a pretty face. It was one of the reasons I was surprised when he married me.'

'You're not…' he started to say but she waved him silent.

'Don't,' she said and he didn't continue. 'What did Charles Vane do to earn her wrath?' she said without thinking but to her surprise Billy answered readily.

'He was her lover, I am not sure of the details but he displeased her in some way and from then on he was barred from trade.'

'Her lover? She took a pirate for a lover?' Sarah was astounded. 'And she was still accepted in society?'

'In Nassau society, yes. I'm not sure that that would fit with your idea of society but the same rules don't apply there.'

Sarah ruminated on that for a moment before curiosity drove her to question him further.

'What was she like?'

'Like? She was strong, wilful, she didn't take shit from anyone,' he said with a faintly reminiscent smile. 'She ran her father's business, better than he could himself while he lived off the profits and considered himself the true ruler of his empire. Every man in Nassau knew better.'

Sarah sighed, feeling self-pity well up inside her. It was galling to discover that the woman who had stolen her husband from her was the very antithesis of all the virtues that she had been taught to cultivate to secure a husband. Much as it was a lowering feeling to realise that those very virtues perhaps had driven her husband away.

'You're different to her,' he said quietly.

'I need no reminders.'

'It wasn't an insult. You are loyal, amongst other things. Eleanor was many things but she wasn't loyal, she did whatever was best for Eleanor,' he said, a touch of bitterness colouring his tone.

'Yes, loyal to a fault and that is hardly something to ignite passion in a man's breast. Loyal and dutiful, I know what I am.'

'I didn't mean to upset you.'

'It's my fault, I asked and I knew that I wouldn't like the answer.'

Billy cleared his throat uncomfortably, 'She wasn't to every man's taste.'

'Just the one that matters.' She gave herself a shake. 'Sorry, I thought I wanted to know but now... God, so many things I wish I could change.' She stood abruptly, smoothing down her skirts. 'I think I may go for a walk. Thank you for being honest with me. I'm sorry for…for…asking you so many difficult questions.'

'It's not…I'm not...I'm sorry I couldn't help.'

'You helped, at least…I think you did, I'll know better once I've had time to think about it all. I know the truth now and the truth is probably better than my own imaginings.'

She smoothed her skirts again and walked away, avoiding his gaze which she knew would be laced with pity, not really concentrating on where her feet were taking her. As it happened she found herself at the lookout where she sat and stared for a long time at the horizon. She was too far away and so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't notice when Billy put his newly sharpened axe to use it was with an unnecessary amount of violence.

However, she did notice when she returned that the completed deck of cards was stacked neatly on top of the trunk, those she had neglected to finish inscribed in a careful, precise hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: Apparently, Sarah and Woodes actually had four children before their separation, however for the sake of the story I eliminated them all as I didn't think she would have left her children to go chasing after her husband. Also, I am not sure he was as indifferent as I have suggested, given that three of their children were born between 1706 and 1708.


	10. Chapter 10

Scars.

So many scars marred the skin of Billy's torso.

Some were faded thin slices like sword cuts. Some, across his back, looked like lash marks, showing rough and silver in stark contrast to his tan. Just above his hip there was a circular hollow, the edges uneven, undoubtedly from a gunshot, and above one collar bone was a fading purple scar, such a vicious, ugly gash it seemed impossible that he had survived the blow that caused it.

The sheer number of them spoke eloquently of the violent life he had led. Either that or ineptitude when it came to a fight but it seemed unlikely to her that this man, standing like Poseidon in the gently lapping waves, was unskilled in battle.

He was waiting, endlessly patient. The wooden spear in his hands, the tip sharpened to a point and hardened in the smouldering ashes of their fire, hung poised as he scanned the ocean floor, drops of water glittering on his muscular arms.

The sea breeze fluttered the pages of her book and Sarah reluctantly pulled her eyes away from the tableau below the rocky outcrop where she lay. She pressed her page down firmly as she tried to focus once more on her reading, one finger tracing the words. Her hat, tied securely against the wind coming in off the ocean, shaded her from the worst depredations of the rays of afternoon sun.

She peeked another look under the brim, cataloguing every mark and injury, and wondering what he had suffered, what he had endured. His concentration was such that she had plenty of opportunity to stare and when she looked down at her book again the words swam before her unfocused eyes.

Who had whipped him? How had he survived the wound to his shoulder? It looked more recent than most of the others, healed but still livid.

'What are you reading?' he said quietly.

Starting guiltily, she glanced up but his eyes were on the rippling water, watching for an unwary ocean dweller to approach his motionless form.

'Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night's Dream.'

'Will you read some to me?'

'Read to you?'

'Yeah, this gets boring after a while.'

She stifled a small smile. So, not endlessly patient after all.

'As you wish.'

She smoothed the page once more and then read aloud,

_'O, I am out of breath, in this fond chase,_

_The more my prayer, the lesser is my grace._

_Happy is Hermia, wheresoe'er she lies;_

_For she hath blessed and attractive eyes._

_How came her eyes so bright? Not with salt tears:_

_If so, my eyes oftener wash'd than hers._

_No, no, I am as ugly as a bear;_

_For beasts that meet me run away for fear:_

_Therefore no marvel though Demetrius_

_Do as a monster, fly my presence thus._

_What wicked and dissembling glass of mine,_

_Made me compare with Hermia's sphery eyne?_

_But who is here? Lysander on the ground;_

_Dead or asleep? I see no blood, no wound,_

_Lysander, if you live, good sir awake.'_

She turned the page but Billy spoke before she could draw a breath to continue.

_'And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake._

_Transparent Helena, Nature shews her art,_

_That through thy bosom make me see thy heart._

_Where is Demetrius? O, how fit a word_

_Is that vile name to perish on my sword!'_

She looked up from the page in astonishment. Billy was still staring intently at the water beneath him, tensed in anticipation. With a sudden stab and a splash he pounced. There was a momentary pause and then he lifted his spear, a large silver fish wriggling on its point. She had already put her book aside when he held the spear out to her and she took the fish from the end. She held it firmly, slippery and squirming, as it gaped and flailed its last and then placed it in the bucket alongside a harvest of shellfish. Rinsing her hands and drying them on her skirts she turned back to her book and Billy.

'I had not thought you would know Shakespeare so well,' she admitted.

'Not particularly surprising, you assumed I couldn't read not so long ago,' he said, leaning on his spear which was now dug into the soft sand at his feet.

'True,' she acknowledged. 'But still, I know of very few people who can quote more than a few lines of the famous speeches.'

_'Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou Romeo?'_

'Precisely.'

He shrugged.

'I like words, and I have a good memory.'

'You really are the most puzzling dichotomy.'

'Because I am a pirate I can't like literature?'

'I wouldn't have imagined it before I met you. I would have assumed that you had other less…cultured interests. Certainly not that you would be organising a ship full of pirates in a grand performance of A Midsummer Night's Dream!'

'With the captain playing Oberon and the cabin boy as a very pretty Hermia?' he said with a laugh.

She started to giggle at the mental picture.

'Christ! I can only imagine what their response would have been if I'd tried!' he said. 'It would have been more trouble than it was worth to get them to think of anything other than drinking, fighting and fucking.'

'Ha, so even you admit that _most_ pirates are not so well acquainted with Shakespeare's works.'

He laughed and grimaced wryly.

'Fine, your generalisations are not without foundation.'

She took his capitulation with a smug inclination of her head, 'So, my erudite pirate, what part would you play? Puck? Lysander?'

He pursed his lips in thought, 'Puck, he has the most interesting part.'

'I like Helena, she has the best speeches.'

'I had you pegged as a Helena.'

'Because of my steadfast devotion?'

'I was thinking more about the 'maypole' line!'

She spluttered with laughter.

'You're one to talk! Next to you I'm a dwarf, an acorn!

'Or would you be Titania?'

'A fairy queen? I like that.'

 _'My Oberon, what visions have I seen! Methought I was enamour'd of an ass,'_ Billy quoted with a mischievous grin.

Sarah tried and failed to repress the rather disloyal laughter that welled up inside her. Still giggling, she hastily changed the subject.

'Will you show me how to spear fish? And make snares? I want to know how to make snares,' she said.

Billy straightened up and nodded.

'If you like. We can start now with the spear fishing. I'll show you the snares later.'

She swept enthusiastically to her feet and then looked down at her attire.

'Turn around,' she said. 'I don't want to get my skirts wet.'

Billy obediently turned his back and she quickly shucked her skirts and dropped down the side of the rock to the water below. When she waded to his side he turned and handed her the spear.

'You need patience for this,' he said.

'I can be patient.'

He positioned himself behind her.

'Find a comfortable stance and plant yourself, then don't move.' He reached over her shoulders as she adjusted her feet and moved her hands down the shaft of wood. 'Hold it like this, and then wait. When a fish comes within reach, thrust it quickly, straight down, pin it to the sand. No hesitation.'

She nodded her understanding and he withdrew his hands. Shadowy shapes undulated through the water, slightly out of reach of the spear's point. Curbing the urge to move towards them she held her ground, only slightly distracted by Billy's close presence at her back. A shimmering fish swam slowly towards her and she silently urged it on.

_Just a little further._

She didn't move when it came within striking distance and the fish suddenly flicked its tail and retreated in a flurry of sand.

'Why did you let it go?' Billy said.

'It was a bit small.'

She could hear amusement in his voice when he said, 'Are you getting competitive, Miss Castle?'

'No, I just don't want to listen to you complain that you're still hungry later.'

'I never complain!'

'You do when you're hungry.'

Another fish approached, flowing across the sea floor, inspecting shells as it advanced. Her hands tensed on the spear and she raised it slightly.

'Remember, no hesitation. And don't stab your foot.'

She smiled, her eyes intent on the unsuspecting fish as it drew closer.

_A little further now, come here._

The fish stopped, examining something near her feet and Sarah lunged, slamming the spear as hard as she could into its body. The sudden swirl of sand clouded the water and she lifted her catch triumphantly to the surface only to find the spear point inexplicably free of an impaled fish.

'Ah, missed,' Billy said.

She stared at the empty spear for a moment and then scanned the settling sea bed at her feet. She had indeed missed, the fish was gone. Disappointment rushed through her.

'They're quick little bastards,' Billy consoled her. She twisted towards him but as she did so a wave, larger than the previous ones, hit her square between her shoulder blades and she stumbled. He caught her almost absently, one hand on her waist, the other turning aside the murderous point of the spear she still clutched.

'Careful with that,' he admonished. She shot him her haughtiest look which he met with a broad smile, pulled herself from his grasp, planting her feet determinedly and raising her spear once more. He didn't say anything, just adjusted her hands fractionally and then climbed up the rock, water sluicing off him as he stood.

'Don't drip water on my book,' she said without looking up.

'Concentrate on catching my dinner,' he retorted.

'I am concentrating. It's your turn to read. Entertain me while I provide for you.'

He chuckled and there was a rustle as he picked up the book and began to read.

_'Do not say so Lysander; say not so:_

_What though he love your Hermia? Lord, what though?_

_Yet Hermia still loves you: then be content._

_Content with Hermia! No; I do repent_

_The tedious minutes I with her have spent._

_Not Hermia but Helena I love:_

_Who will not change a raven for a dove?_

_The will of man is by his reason sway'd;_

_And reason says you are the worthier maid.'_

Billy paused. 'I never really understood the ending of this one. Is not Demetrius still under the enchantment when he marries Helena?'

'Yes, but it is said at the beginning that he was originally in love with Helena, so I think it could be construed as having his true love restored.'

He grunted, 'I suppose, just think it's a pretty raw deal for Helena.'

'Be careful what you wish for?' Sarah said and then she drove the spear once more into the water.

And missed again.

It took her three more tries but on the third she knew she had done it, the balance of the spear was off as she pulled it up. Billy put the book down as she turned to him with a crow of victory and displayed the neatly speared fish.

'Well done,' he said as he held out his hands to receive her catch and she couldn't help but smile with satisfaction. After he had dropped the fish into the bucket, she tossed the spear up to him and prepared to climb up the rock.

'Do you want a hand?'

She squinted up at him and nodded.

'Please.'

He held out a hand which she clasped and he started to haul her up. She was almost at the top when his grip loosened and she felt herself start to fall. Scrabbling at the rock with her free hand she tried to find a secure handhold but it was too late and she slipped back into the water with an ungainly splash. When she surfaced, soaked and spluttering, she looked up to find Billy looking down on her and grinning.

'You dropped me!' she said indignantly.

'Yeah, sorry about that.'

He didn't look in the slightest bit sorry, if anything he looked like he was struggling to hold in his laughter. She narrowed her eyes at him, silently promising vengeance. Waving off his proffered, and very suspect, offer of further help she waded to the surf and climbed the outcrop from the beach. She cast a quick assessing glance at the two fish in the bucket and looked up to find Billy watching her approach. She was modestly conscious of her damp shift and lack of skirts so she raised an eyebrow and made a twisting motion with her hand. He rolled his eyes but swung around and stared out to sea.

As she was picking up her skirts a wicked thought occurred to her and she set them carefully back down.

Treading very quietly she crept up behind Billy.

'I was think…' he started to say, turning towards her but before he could finish she gave him a hard shove. His eyes widened as he teetered and then, as he started to fall, one long arm grabbed her around the waist, dragging her with him. She gave a little scream as they plunged into the water, her limbs tangled with his. She wrenched herself from his strong grip, pushed him away and burst to the surface, standing in the chest high water. He stood too and his outraged scowl made her burst out laughing.

'You pushed me!' he said rubbing water from his eyes.

'You didn't expect some kind of retaliation?' she said, breathless with amusement.

'Didn't deserve more like, it was a genuine mistake, I lost my grip is all.'

She flicked water at his innocent expression and he responded in kind, making her shriek with laughter and race towards the shore as a barrage of seawater hit her. Standing on the sand she raised her hands in surrender.

'No more! Please!'

'I'll stop if you stop.'

'Fine, I'll stop.'

He strode out of the sea and as he neared he scooped up a handful of water and threw it at her. She danced away across the beach, wiping her face.

'You said you would stop!'

'I know, I really will this time. I promise.'

She snorted derisively, 'You've already proved yourself totally untrustworthy.'

'I am a pirate,' he said with a shrug.

'That you are, if not at all what I would have expected,' she said smiling at him.

He grinned back at her and in that moment Sarah felt strangely content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent quite a long time pondering what she was reading and then realised that A Midsummer Night's Dream seemed vaguely relevant to the story, particularly the character of Helena. Also really wanted to have Billy say 'Methought I was enamour'd of an ass,' as a dig at Rogers.


	11. Chapter 11

'I thought I'd go to the wreck today, get the rest of the food stores. We're getting low on hardtack and I'm pretty sure there's more barrels in the hold.'

Sarah looked over the top of her playing cards.

'There's more?'

'Yes, I didn't get it all when I first arrived, too much effort but if the ship lists anymore it might get wet and be useless. A good storm could be all it takes,' Billy said.

'Do you want me to come with you?'

He shook his head. 'No, it shouldn't take long.'

His focus returned to the game but when she picked up another card she found he was watching her intently, his eyes narrowed.

'You're better at this than you let on?' he said.

'Yes,' she acknowledged.

'Much better?'

'Yes.'

'Are you letting me win?'

'In part,' she pulled a face, 'It's sort of a habit.'

'Why?'

She shrugged. 'A good wife would never embarrass her husband's friends by exposing their shortcomings, so I learned to…dissemble a little.'

'By letting them win?'

She gave him an impish smile. 'A lady can occasionally win but only as long as it not down to superior skill, simply good fortune.'

He laughed. 'How do you convince them of that?'

'One never wins too obviously.'

'Show me.'

She bit her lip, her expression perplexed, the very picture of a novice. Giving him a demure, shy smile she placed her card on the discards pile with becoming hesitancy and then looked over at him expectantly.

Billy snorted with laughter.

'Who knew you could be so devious! Do you cheat?'

She gave him a superior look.

'Of course not, the wife of a Governor never cheats, besides there was hardly any need. Men often overestimate their skill at cards. Knowing I could win was enough.'

'I'll not make the same mistake, it's clear I need some practice.' He looked up at the sun. 'It's time I was going anyway. Not sure my manly pride can take the beating you're about to hand me so I'll bow out gracefully now.'

'Not that gracefully,' she said with another smile.

He winked at her and she laughed and waved him on his way.

It was only when the fading light made it difficult for her to continue with her embroidery that she realised how long Billy had been gone. Usually he returned before sunset and his absence worried her a little. She listened carefully. Other than the usual cacophony of noises emanating from the forest there was nothing to indicate his approach. She got up and walked to the edge of the camp. No large shadowy figure met her gaze.

The sky was rapidly greying to dusk and to search for him in the dark would be foolhardy, she had only a vague idea where the wreck was situated. Besides, there was a strong chance Billy would return shortly. It would do neither of them any good if she was hopelessly lost in the woods.

To distract herself she ate some dinner and then curled up with a book on his bed in the hut and tried not to fret. She had read the same paragraph at least five times before she sighed and put the book down, her thoughts kept intruding and making it impossible for her to concentrate.

_Had he simply not had time to make it back before dark?_

_Had it just taken longer to remove the barrels than he had anticipated?_

_Was he hurt?_

That final thought made her heart race.

She got up and paced the edge of the camp again, fists clenching uselessly at her sides. As she turned to retrace her steps the light of the dying fire caught her attention; if he was to make his way in the dark he would need a beacon. She stoked it back to a roaring blaze, hoping its golden glow would guide him home.

Eventually she went back to the hut and lay down again, waiting.

The morning found her restless and still anxious. She had slept only a little, in short bursts. Any rustle or movement from the forest would startle her awake and send her to the door to see if Billy had returned.

He had not.

She waited for an hour or so after dawn, expecting him to at any moment stride into the clearing, hearty and hale, but after a time she realised she could not put off searching for him any longer. Filled with determination she splashed some water on her face, tied on her hat and fixed a bundle of rags, a water flask and some biscuits into a scarf which she slung around her shoulder and tied across her chest. She left the camp in the direction of the wreck, nibbling on a biscuit and refusing to acknowledge the worst of her imaginings.

Several hours later her resolve was starting to fade and panic was rapidly setting in. She had found the wreck in the inlet but there was no sign of him. A small rowboat that she assumed he used to reach the ship was pulled up on the shore and his footprints in the sand leading away suggested that he was not still aboard. Unfortunately his prints quickly faded as she approached the trees. Searching for sign of him on the forest floor proved impossible, she had neither the knowledge nor the skill, and she cursed her lack of foresight.

She had called and called to no avail, there was no response. She didn't know what she would do if she couldn't find him and she was also concerned she may have missed him and he was already back at the camp. If he found her missing she was certain he would come looking for her, exacerbating the injuries her panicked wits kept picturing, imaginary wounds that became more grievous with each passing minute.

Torn between continuing her search and heading back to the hut, she found herself paralysed in an agony of indecision. She didn't know what to do for the best. As she stood vacillating between her options she heard a noise that made her tense. A swishing of foliage and unsteady footsteps. She turned towards the sound just as Billy emerged from between the trees. She gave a tiny cry of relief.

He was limping, one of his shirt sleeves was missing and there was blood all over his shirt from a gash on his temple. His eyes were slightly unfocused but he seemed to recognise her as she approached.

'Billy, thank goodness,' she said, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him, thankfulness making her forget herself completely for a moment. He engulfed her in his arms and buried his face in her neck.

'Sarah, Sarah, I've found you,' he slurred hoarsely.

She pulled away, frowning in consternation at the state of him.

'What happened to you? No wait, you should sit,' she said urging him to the floor.

He did as he was bid, wincing as he put too much weight on his ankle, and then slumped against a tree, his head swaying slightly. Sarah undid her bundle. Splashing some water on one of the rags she offered him the flask. His hands shook as he took it from her and she found herself supporting its weight for him as he gulped down its contents. Once he was finished she took it back and stoppered it.

'What happened Billy?' she said, using the wet rag to clean some of the blood from his face. His eyes met hers but there was a still a vagueness there, a small frown of confusion on his brow.

'I fell,' he said uncertainly. 'One of the boards gave way, I fell. My head, I hit my head?'

'You fell on the ship?'

'I hit my head, and my ankle, I hurt my ankle.'

'Is it broken?'

'I don't know, it hurts. I think it's not broken. My side hurts.'

Sarah was relieved, a sprain she could deal with, a break was something else altogether. She tipped his head up so she could look at his injury. The cut didn't look too deep but there was a lot of blood and a small lump. She tentatively cleaned around the wound and then bound his head with a makeshift bandage of rags, hoping it would suffice until she was able to get him back to the hut. She stood, straightening her skirts and regarded the large man in front of her. This was going to be difficult. She knew she didn't have the strength to bear his weight but hoped that he would be able to walk on his own, using her for support.

'Come along, up you get,' she said bracingly.

Billy's head lolled a bit but he obeyed, leaning heavily on the tree as he found his feet. She re-tied her bundle and took his arm, draping it over her shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was stiff with dried blood and he leaned heavily on her to such an extent that she doubted her ability to get him home. As it was she managed it but she suspected it was mainly due to his strength of will rather than her own. She was exhausted by the time they reached the clearing and the sun was high in the sky, well into the afternoon. Guiding Billy gently into the hut she lay him down on the bed. He seemed on the verge of sleep and was tractable to the soft pressure of her hands. She went outside and found the bucket of fresh water, picking up some clean rags and the bottle of rum, and then went back to him.

'Billy,' she said gently, 'I need to clean up your wound properly and then I'll have a look at your ankle.'

Billy lay on his back and only acknowledged her words with a groan. She took that as tacit agreement and carefully untied the bandages about his head. He flinched as the pad of bandages stuck slightly when she pulled them away. Apologising quietly she continued her ministrations, washing away the rest of the blood. Another look at the wound showed her it was fairly shallow, and despite its gruesome appearance was actually quite minor.

'I'm going to need to splash some rum on the cut to clean it' she warned him, doing it quickly so he had little time to recoil. He flinched and swore, his voice sounding a bit stronger and giving her heart. Folding a new pad of clean rags she bandaged it in place. He moved his head restlessly but when she placed her hand on his brow to restrain him he quieted under her touch.

Feeling somewhat uncomfortable she unbuttoned his shirt, tugging it free of his trousers, and then pulled him upright to lean on her shoulder so she could remove the soiled garment. He slid back prone with a vague protest. His neck and shoulder were caked in dried blood where it had run down from his cut, but worse, the removal of his shirt revealed to her another injury that she had somehow missed.

His missing shirt sleeve was tied around his middle and when she carefully peeled it away there was a large laceration on his side, a trickle of fresh blood already working its way down his hip.

She bit her lip. This was deeper than the cut to his head, a vicious slash across his ribs revealing muscle and possibly bone beneath. She dabbed pointlessly at the oozing blood, wondering what in Heaven's name she was going to do about this. Billy caught her hand.

'Sarah,' he said hoarsely, 'You need to sew it up, you can't leave it as it is.'

'Sew it up?'

'Yeah, like a tear in some cloth. You're good at sewing, it'll be easy for you.'

She doubted the veracity of that last statement but realised that there were no other options, she couldn't very well make Billy do it himself and the wound did need to be closed.

She went outside again to gather her sewing kit and in the absence of any wine, she put some water on to boil, adding several logs to the smouldering fire to get the flames going. Once the water was hot she went back into the hut and began her preparations. Billy appeared to be asleep but he awoke with a curse when she used the hot water to clean the wound on his ribs, trying his best to squirm away from her. She put a restraining hand on his stomach to keep him still, ignoring his objections, the muscles under her palm twitching and flexing as she washed away the blood. Inspecting the gash she picked out a few splinters of wood and then rinsed it again. This time she didn't bother to inform Billy when she splashed some rum onto it but she was mildly surprised when he only responded with a sudden intake of breath and some muttered grumbling.

'Billy,' she said, touching his chest to get his attention. 'I'm going to start now, do you want something to bite down on?'

'No, I'll be fine,' he said weakly. 'Just don't make the stitches as tight as you do when sewing, they need to be looser.'

'And no embroidered flowers, I'm assuming.'

His mouth quirked up in a tiny smile, followed all too quickly by a frown of discomfort.

'I'll do my best,' she said, trying to still the shaking in her hand. Really she had no idea what she was doing. She had never sewn anyone up before but there was no-one else to do it. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

The first stab of the needle made him suck in a sharp breath and she paused uncertainly.

'Just do it,' he said through gritted teeth. 'Quickly.'

It was _nothing_ like sewing up a tear in cloth.

His flesh stretched and shifted under her needle, causing her stomach to churn, and blood continued to seep out onto her hands, making the needle slippery in her grip, but she worked swiftly sealing the slice as best she could. Her stitches were more untidy than was usual but given the circumstances she was cautiously pleased. When she was finished she splashed more rum on the area and bandaged it tightly, praying that she had done enough.

With that done she turned her attention to his ankle, eliciting a drowsy protest from Billy as she removed the boot from his injured foot. It looked swollen and faint purple bruising was visible under his ankle bone. A hesitant feel of the afflicted area gave her no idea of the extent of his injury and caused Billy to swear again and wrench his foot from her grip so she desisted. Aside from the swelling it didn't look misshapen so for want of any better ideas she bandaged it up, fervently hoping that if there was a break then the tightly tied strips of rag would keep it immobilised.

She dipped another rag into the warm water, seated herself at Billy's side and started cleaning the dried blood from his neck and shoulder. He seemed to be asleep, his breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling under her hand. She found herself staring. Never in her life had she been this close to a man in such a state of undress, not even her husband; relations between them had always been carried out with their night attire as a barrier to intimacy.

Without really realising what she was doing she traced the hollow of his collarbone, feeling the raised unevenness of the livid scar she had observed a few days ago on the beach. She heard his breath hitch, dragging her back to awareness and she stopped what she was doing guiltily. He sighed and murmured something incomprehensible but he did not appear to wake, however, when she gave herself a firm mental shake and started to rise his hand shot out and caught her arm.

'Don't go' he whispered huskily.

Unsure what to do she seated herself back on the bed and he gave another sigh, smoothing his hand down her arm and taking her hand in his. His hand was warm and enveloped her much smaller one. There was something comforting in his touch, in being needed by someone, in being necessary, even if only in a small way.

The lack of sleep and physical exertions of the day were taking their toll and she reasoned that she could rest here a while at his side until he was properly asleep. She leaned back against the wall and looked at her charge. His eyes were closed and he appeared relaxed, although a small crease was visible between his brows that she wanted to smooth away. She resisted the urge and shut her eyes for a moment.

It was dusk when she woke. She stretched and rubbed her neck, sore from sleeping awkwardly upright. Billy showed no inclination towards consciousness, breathing slowly and evenly, and this time didn't stir when she carefully disentangled her hand from his.

The fire had died again so she set about reigniting it while keeping an ear cocked for sounds of her patient waking. She reheated some leftovers in the cooking pot, a thick fish stew that loosened into a palatable soup with the addition of some extra water. She was stirring it when she heard Billy call to her. Pausing to fill a mug with drinking water she went back to the hut. When she entered he was struggling to rise, grimacing in pain. She helped him into a seated position, trying to ignore the look of profound relief he was giving her.

'You're here,' he said gruffly. 'I woke and you'd gone, you said you wouldn't leave.'

His tone was almost accusatory. She felt slightly bemused and found herself apologising.

'I was just seeing to dinner, I didn't go far. Do you want some water? Something to eat?'

Noting how dim it was in the hut she gave him the cup of water which he accepted gratefully and fetched a taper to light the lamp. The warm yellow glow of the lamp filled the hut, casting flickering shadows across his face. She put a hand to his forehead, he felt warm but she wasn't sure if he was feverish.

'How do you feel?'

'Sore, and embarrassed,' he said with a slight smile.

She smiled back, trying to ignore how that lazy smile directed at her made her stomach knot rather oddly. Feeling unaccountably flustered she all but ran from the hut. She filled a mug with the soup from the cooking pot. When she returned and handed the soup to Billy he thanked her and took a judicious sip of the hot liquid. Resting the mug in his lap he looked at her seriously.

'I think it's my turn to thank you for looking after me, and for coming to find me.'

She shrugged and said in an offhand manner, 'Nonsense, I was just annoyed that my dinner was delayed. I was looking for food, our meeting was just a happy coincidence.' She regarded him gravely. 'You did bring me dinner, didn't you?'

He laughed and then winced a little, pressing a hand to his bandaged side.

'I'm afraid I've failed you. I was looking for books to augment your collection when I fell, I never made it as far as the food stores.'

_He was looking for books for her? What was she to make of that? Anything? Nothing at all?_

She stood rather abruptly and he reached out and caught her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

'Seriously though, thank you,' he said. Holding her gaze he raised her hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across her knuckles.

Sarah suddenly felt as if her stays were far, far too tight, except that her stays now resided at the bottom of her trunk and really couldn't be blamed for this breathlessness. Gentlemen had kissed her hand before, it was fairly commonplace, but with him it somehow seemed more intimate. Perhaps it was the warmth in his blue eyes or perhaps it was her rapidly growing regard for him.

She ruthlessly pushed that last thought aside.

'You're welcome. You should get some rest, you only have to call if you need me,' she said briskly.

It was his restlessness that woke her in the night and when she went to check on him his brow was hot and dry but he was shivering almost uncontrollably. He moaned again in his sleep, an anguished sound of loss, and muttered incoherently. The flickering light of the lamp showed the skin on his side around the bandages was inflamed, angry and red.

A sudden rush of memories crowded her mind. A fevered brow framed by dark curls. Tired, hopeless eyes. The putrid smell of festering flesh. And that final, terrifying silence.

This time would be different, she promised herself.

It _had_ to be different.


	12. Chapter 12

Pus oozed sluggishly as Sarah gingerly unwound the bandages from Billy's torso. She inspected the wound in the pale morning light that crept through the open doorway. Her careful stitches were pulled tightly by the inflammation, the skin taut and raw. Taking her knife she cut the threads on the lower stitches to allow the yellow fluid to drain, loosening them to ease the pull on his swollen skin, wondering if it was the right thing to do. The sickly sweet smell of infection made her gag and she swallowed convulsively against the rolling of her stomach. Billy fidgeted whilst she worked, his cheeks flushed with fever as he dozed uneasily, but he woke when she cleaned the wound with hot water and rum. He turned unfocused eyes on her, blinking in confusion. For a moment his expression was one of weary disillusionment, however he didn't complain and his dispirited acceptance made her heart ache. She bound him up again and then went to get him a cup of water.

When she returned to the hut she found him thrashing against invisible restraints.

'Billy? Would you like some water?' she said moving towards the bed.

His eyes were wild as he stared at her.

'No, please no! No water!'

She stopped, unsure. He was holding his ribs as if in pain but his large hands spanned the entirety of his chest, not just the site of his injury, and his breath came out in panicked gasps.

'Alright,' she said, backing away. 'No water.'

He seemed to relax a fraction although she could still see tension in every muscle. What on earth had happened to him to make him fear a cup of water? Because it was fear that she saw in his eyes, terror of some remembered pain.

She left him, hoping that sleep would restore him to rationality and he would accept some water. He needed to drink and she was hardly capable of forcing him, even if it was for his own good.

The botany book lay open on a chest near the fire, the weight of the tinder box preventing the pages from flapping in the breeze. She picked it up and studied the entry on Gale of the Wind, fighting the urge to curse the author's limited instructions regarding its preparation. The book certainly suggested that the plant would aid in reducing a fever but it didn't specify which part was of medicinal value, or indeed if it was to be ingested, inhaled or applied as a poultice. There was no mention of a toxic effect and generally the author was emphatic about any dangers represented by the herbs described in the thin volume but still, she didn't want to accidently poison Billy in her attempts to help him.

After much deliberation she used a smooth, rounded rock to grind up a sprig of the herb, flowers, berries and all and steeped it in hot water. The resulting brew was bitter and unpleasant tasting but after a couple of hours there seemed to be no ill effects so she deemed it safe for her patient's consumption.

She took it to him when next he woke, along with a cup of water. He seemed more lucid this time and gulped down the water with no hesitation.

'I'd forgotten how much this fucking hurts,' he said with a groan.

'Do you want some rum for the pain? There isn't anything else I'm afraid.'

'I'd love some rum, but I'll not. Best keep it for cleaning this fucking cut.'

She nodded and offered him the tea.

'I don't think this will help the pain but you should drink it.'

He regarded it with some suspicion.

'What is this?'

'The plant book says it will help lower your fever,' she said.

'Are you sure you aren't trying to poison me?'

'Hardly, if I were trying to poison you I would have disguised it in the rum,' she said, then paused reflectively, 'although my dastardly plan would have been foiled by your refusal.' She held out the cup insistently until he took it from her. 'I drank some myself an hour or so ago and as you can see I'm still in perfect health.'

He sniffed it and took a sip, its pungency making him grimace in disgust. When he tried to pass the cup back to her she shook her head.

'All of it,' she said sternly.

He took another quick sip and then another when he saw her frown. By the time she coaxed him - although he might call it coerced - to choke down the whole cup, while she rolled her eyes at his dramatics, his eyelids were starting to droop.

'I have such bad dreams,' he whispered.

'I know,' she said, tucking the blanket around him. 'Perhaps the tea will help.'

It did, in truth, seem to ease his symptoms, if only for a short while before delirium set in again, and so she persisted despite his grumbling. She noted with interest that for all his injured looks at its revolting taste, he never refused her, and unless in the grasp of his nightmares he was for the most part obedient and docile. In a way this worried her more than anything else.

Over the next few days she could only watch in despair as his fever mounted. His hallucinations were often distressing, he was restless and incoherent most of the time and when he spoke intelligibly it was to beg for forgiveness from many unnamed spirits who flocked around him or scream for mercy from a man named John Silver. Once she entered the room and he had pleaded with her in the voice of a child not to lash him again, promising he would do it better next time. Her heart broke daily as his illness appeared to be cruelly tormenting him with all his most harrowing memories.

Another time she approached his bed and he glared at her with utter hatred and whispered in a venomous tone: 'You!'

She was certain that he would have killed her in that moment, had he the strength, murdered the person that he saw in her place and so she learned to announce her arrival. The sound of her voice seemed to bring him back to some semblance of lucidity and at least prevented any violent outbursts. Although she knew he would never knowingly harm her, on occasion his wild eyes and unfocused gaze reminded her of the mad man she had met on the beach some months ago and she was cautious lest he, in his confusion, mistake her for someone else.

With their limited resources she did everything she could to ease his suffering. The frequent doses of herb tea were only effective for a short while and wet cloths laid on his skin dried almost as quickly as she could change them from the intense heat that poured off him. Sometimes she simply sat at his head bathing his brow with a cool damp rag, a bucket of water ready at her feet. He seemed quieter at those times and the occasional soft sigh that drifted from his lips encouraged her to think that she was bringing him some small measure of relief.

And yet despite her efforts he became weak and fractious and his rational moments rarer. His skin took on a greyish pallor and an unhealthy flush painted his cheek bones, like a grotesque parody of powder and rouge. His eyes seemed to sink into his skull, the skin around them almost bruised, and his lips cracked and bled. The gash on his side continued to seep a reeking mixture of blood and pus, however many times she cleansed it, and the flesh around the wound turned a sickly purple colour. His ankle swelled, mottled bruising colouring the skin of his foot, and he frequently cried out in pain when his writhing caused him to jar one or other of his injuries.

In her desperation she considered bleeding him but quickly discarded the idea. It never seemed to do her any good in the past, despite all that the physicians claimed when they had insisted on it both as a cure for her barrenness and in the aftermath of her one failed pregnancy. She thought it a waste of time as it invariably left her feeling faint and exhausted. It had certainly never had the intended effect, but she lacked the strength of will to deny these men with their condescending looks and their sharp knives. Each time she had lain passively as the blood had seeped down into the dirty basin, watching the thin trickle of red stain the pale skin of her arm and wondering if this time, maybe, she would be cured. With each disappointment her loathing of both physicians and the practice of bleeding intensified. No, Billy was already quite weak enough and given his current rather fragile hold on reality she lacked the courage to open his vein, quite reasonably fearing her actions may be misconstrued.

Her nightly prayers had lapsed in the last few weeks into mechanical recitations of familiar words, but as Billy's fever worsened and she could no longer recall his wandering senses, they became more vehement. Where once her devotions had been worded as gentle requests and heartfelt pleas, now she demanded, threatened and occasionally bargained as if by the sheer force of her determination she could bend the Almighty to her will. The years of unanswered prayers, despite her piety and obedience, fuelled the anger that was growing inside of her. Most of the time her fury was directed at God, at Woodes or at the cruelty of Fate, but sometimes it was directed at herself, for her helplessness, and other times it was directed at Billy himself, for not fighting harder, for daring to leave her alone, for daring to leave her at all. She wanted to shake him, to compel him back to health, but invariably guilt would replace anger when confronted with his haggard appearance and the defeated look in his eyes.

Coming into the hut one afternoon, alerted by his muffled cries she found him calling for someone named Gates. When she approached he clung to her skirts, eyes red rimmed and filled with anguish.

'I should have saved him but I wasn't there!'

'If you weren't there how could you have saved him?' she said reasonably.

'I didn't realise…I didn't think that…'

She settled herself on the bed as he lapsed into disjointed stammering and buried his head in her lap. After a moment she realised he was sobbing, his failure to prevent the death of a man who he clearly held in great affection torturing his fevered mind. Unable to think of anything she could say to comfort him she simply made soothing noises, stroking his hair, as he wept and crumpled the fabric of her skirts in his fists. Eventually he quieted, the shudders that wracked his body easing as he slipped back into an uneasy slumber, but as she shifted him enough to rise he grabbed her wrist.

'Please don't tell him about her,' he rasped. 'He'll kill her if he finds out, he'll stop at nothing to see the offence repaid. He can't know about her.' She smoothed his brow with a gentle hand.

'I won't tell him, I promise,' she said softly. He relaxed under her touch and drifted off again.

Who either of them were Sarah had no idea, she didn't think he was still talking about Gates, but she felt a pang of jealousy stir in her breast regarding this 'her'. Whoever she was, Billy clearly cared a great deal for her.

She refreshed the damp cloth and placed it carefully on his forehead then sat down on the trunk, picking up her embroidery. The skull she had stitched on the collar of his shirt some days before now seemed to mock her with its hollow eyes and she hastily turned her attention to the humming bird that was taking shape on the other side. For the moment he was quiet, the thrashing had abated as last dose of herbs finally took effect but she knew it wouldn't last. Soon the nightmares would return and his torment would continue. It would be sensible to get some rest herself while he had no need of her but, although her eyes were gritty and sore and her limbs leaden, she could not relax enough to sleep.

She avoided thinking of her jealousy for a while, concentrating on her sewing and watching Billy out of the corner of her eye in case he stirred. Instead she focused on the scraps of information that she picked up from his nightmares and delirium. She felt ashamed, inwardly cringing when she thought of the things she had confessed to him, how pathetic she must seem to him with her whining complaints of her sheltered upbringing, her husband's indifference and his infidelity. Billy, she was quite certain, had been tortured on several occasions, including when he was just a child, condemned to die by men he had considered brothers and had endured heartbreak that made this strong, capable man weep. It made most of her problems pale by comparison and gave her a better perspective on her own anguish, anguish that had dulled significantly in the face of her much larger concern for Billy's failing health.

Eventually she forced herself to confront her jealously. She sighed. Why would she envy this unknown woman? Was it simply that she would like someone to feel such passion for her, as Woodes never had? Her hand stilled over her embroidery. Was it that she would like _Billy_ to feel such passion for her? That was an alarming question and the one that followed it even more so. Did she think him handsome? She cocked her head to one side, quietly assessing the sleeping man before her.

Objectively she could admit that he was a fine-looking man, tall and powerful with striking blue eyes. His fever had robbed him of his vitality but not his strong jawline and pronounced cheek bones. He didn't look like a pirate, he looked like someone she could have known in Bristol, not a gentleman of course, although perhaps that was the clothes. She pictured him in a well cut coat, snowy white cravat and highly polished boots, hat tucked neatly under his arm. Maybe at a ball standing tall over the other men, his coat moulded to his muscular form. In that guise she had to admit he would cut an attractive figure, putting them all to shame with their weak chins, ridiculous wigs and indolent corpulence hidden by tight lacing. She had no doubt that the ladies would sigh over his handsome face and slightly rakish air, even with his unfashionably short hair. It was only really the clothes and the pedigree that were lacking. In her imagination, despite the admiring eyes of the other women it would be her that he singled out. Taking her hand he would press a soft kiss to her knuckles, give her a roguish wink and lead her away to dance ignoring a number of ladies with far better claims on his attention. The image was beguiling, but she was pragmatic enough to know that in reality he wouldn't spare her a second glance, not with so many accredited beauties languishing after him.

The sound of his weak coughing brought her sharply back to reality and she bent her head to her stitching with renewed enthusiasm until he quieted again.

It was not just his undeniable good looks that drew her to him. His education and intelligence had surprised her at first, and now delighted her. His wit and fiercely held opinions enlivened their discussions, he listened attentively to her views, and although they often disagreed their squabbles were always good-natured. There was a gentleness to him that belied all expectation; a quiet consideration in his nature. His sly sense of the ridiculous matched her own and it was refreshing to have to neither explain herself nor censor her thoughts. Staring at him it dawned on her that he had become integral to her comfort, his solid, capable presence necessary for her contentment. The thought of being alone as she had been in the beginning was terrifying but there was something more to it that mere loneliness, it was the thought of being without _him_ that scared her most of all.

There were many dark spectres in Billy's past, actions for which she could find no excuse, nevertheless at some point this rough pirate had become dear to her, had become her friend. When it had happened she was not sure. However many times she repeated the litany of _'pirate, pirate, pirate'_ in her head she could no longer see him as one of those illusory brutes. He was a man, a man who treated her with respect and kindness, a man who had done terrible things in his past but also endured terrible things. Like anyone he was capable of both good and bad but perhaps that which he had suffered would make a criminal of all but the most saintly of mortals.

She closed her eyes for a moment against the prickling behind her eyelids.

The reality of the situation was that were he to survive his current illness and they were restored to civilisation she would not see him again. He would probably be imprisoned at best and at worst, well, she didn't really want to think about at worst. He might escape capture or perhaps be pardoned but if he escaped they would not be able to meet, she could not be seen to be on familiar terms with a pirate, reformed or otherwise. She knew exactly what society would think, how it would gossip, scandalised and judgemental without ever knowing, or even caring, about the truth. However much she wished it otherwise she was ruined. No one would believe that propriety had been preserved, and even if they did, the world did not work like that. The mere suggestion of scandal was enough, a woman's virtue being a fragile and tender thing. She would have to work hard to maintain the illusion of gentility, despite the pointlessness of it all, and that would definitely not include friendship with a criminal.

The sound of Billy rousing with a groan pushed her melancholy thoughts aside as she hastened to him with water and a cooling cloth. She was almost shocked to find that for the first time in days his gaze was clear and sharp.

'Sarah,' he said with a weak smile that remained only for a moment before his expression turned pensive. 'I need to talk to you.' He spoke in a murmur that seemed to require most of his strength but when she tried to silence him he shook his head impatiently. 'I don't have much time, you know that.'

'Hush, I'll have none of that maudlin talk. When you are well...'

'I don't think I'm going to get well,' he interrupted. 'You need to be careful when I'm gone. If anyone comes you make sure they're not pirates. If they're flying the black you run and hide in the forest. Don't let them find you. Promise me.'

'I don't think…'

'Promise me!'

'Fine, I promise.'

To her relief his agitation seemed to ease but then he said, 'If they're sailors, merchants, then you could ask for their aid. It might not help but it's the best chance you have. Find the captain, most like to think of themselves as gentlemen.' He pounded a fist against the blankets. 'I should have taught you to fight…but I didn't think…I didn't think.' He sighed and then mumbled, 'Against that many you wouldn't stand a chance anyway. Fuck!'

'Billy, you're going to get better,' she said firmly, uncertain which of them she was reassuring.

He lifted a hand and toyed with one of her curls distractedly.

'You look tired. I wish…I wish I could have…' he trailed off and his gaze fell away.

'You wish you could have…?' Sarah prompted him but when he turned back his eyes were glazed. He gripped her elbow.

'Jacob, you mad, brave bastard, you should have left me to my fate.'

Whatever he had been going to say to her was lost now as the delirium and exhaustion overwhelmed him again. Taking his hand from the crook of her arm she set it down on his chest but he was already asleep and so she quietly left the hut.

On the morning of the fifth day she paused in the arch of the doorway. The room was eerily quiet and Billy lay with a stillness that halted her in her tracks. He lay on his back, no longer twitching, an unnatural pallor to his skin. Her throat tightened and it felt as if she were choking. Grabbing the doorframe in a crushing grip she fought to take a breath so she could shriek her rage.

_No, no, no, NO!_

She shut her eyes, shaking her head fiercely as if her denial could alter reality. Anger, pain and a terrible sense of loss clawed at her. Her hold on the rough wood was so tight she almost expected the doorframe to buckle beneath her hands.

 _How could You?!_ she screamed in the silence of her mind. She had commanded God to aid her, insisted that He prove Himself by healing Billy and again she had been ignored. Something fractured inside her and she could no longer contain the ire that boiled in her veins. On the verge of venting a furious cry she barely heard the faint question that floated through the air.

'Why do you look so angry?'

Now she clasped the door frame to hold herself up as relief stole the strength from her legs. Her overwhelming emotions, finding no avenue for release as she fought for control, set her hands trembling and she took several deep breaths trying to regain some of her self-possession. She couldn't speak. Instead she moved to his bedside, took his hand and smiled at him fondly, if a little tremulously, noting the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his clear eyed gaze and the healthier pink tinge in his cheeks. What she had mistaken for unnatural pallor was actually a diminishing of the feverish flush that had infused his skin for the last few days.

Eventually she managed to say, 'I'm not angry, I'm happy that you're looking better.'

'I don't feel better,' he complained. 'I feel weak as a kitten and sweaty as hell.'

She couldn't help herself, she laughed and when she saw his scowl she laughed even harder, a suggestion of hysterical relief tinging her mirth.


	13. Chapter 13

The third snare was as empty as the first, although thankfully not destroyed as the second had been, the rope ripped from its moorings, the sticks snapped and the fruit a sticky mulch trampled into the ground. Sarah sighed and looked down at her hands, braced against the fallen tree she sat astride. She felt a slight spasm of regret when she noticed her now lean and tanned forearms, no longer attractively plump and pale, but quickly quashed it. She swung her leg easily over and hopped down the other side of the tree. Perhaps one of the final two traps would be more successful.

Although the immediate danger had passed, Billy's recovery was a slow process. The fever had robbed him of his strength and he still slept most of the time, lacking the energy to leave his bed. His hands shook noticeably with effort and the gauntness of his face lingered. It had become very clear to Sarah that he was impatient of his frailty and moody and irascible as a result. A long sleep, taken after his fever had broken, had refreshed her and so she was able to bear his temper with equanimity. That being said, she appreciated the long periods he spent napping when she didn't have to put up with his grumbling over his enforced bed rest.

Her main concern now was their lack of food supplies. The days of his illness when she had been afraid to leave him, even for short periods, meant that their stocks had dwindled alarmingly. She had used up the last of the dried fish several nights ago and they were now surviving on what she could gather in the day. Although she had been able to spear several fish and harvest some crabs it was not enough, Billy needed meat to regain the weight he had lost in the throes of his infection.

She had spent quite a considerable time pondering her options. She had quickly discounted the gun, hitting anything would be nigh on impossible and she preferred to conserve their shot for Billy's expert marksmanship. To chase something down armed only with her knife seemed both foolish and extremely unlikely to yield any results so that idea was quickly set aside as well. Billy had taught her to tie snares only days before his fall, explaining both the manufacture and setting of them in detail. This seemed viable. Provided she set them correctly it was possible that some inquisitive swine might blunder into her trap and the rope would do the work for her. That had been her plan, and when she had set the snares and baited them with a fruit of which the pigs of the island seemed particularly fond, she had been quietly optimistic. That optimism was rapidly fading in the face of her empty or ruined traps but nevertheless she sent out a quick, fervent prayer that _something_ would be tempted.

She paused to pull up some roots and then skipped over another fallen tree. It was nice to be unimpeded by the drag of her skirts. The trousers she had borrowed from Billy's trunk might look absolutely indecent, clinging suggestively to her hips and thighs, but they were considerably more practical for her forest jaunt. Billy would not mind her purloining of his clothing, she was sure. They had been buried at the bottom of the trunk under his spare clothes and they were clearly made for a man more of her own height than her giant companion's. Admittedly the previous owner was considerably less rounded in the hip, but the cloth was worn soft and had enough give to accommodate her without being uncomfortably tight. Other than a slightly musty odour of disuse they were perfectly sound, as was the shirt she had taken at the same time. A scarf tied around her head to keep her hair confined had completed her hunting attire. She had been relieved that Billy had snored on obliviously throughout her quiet appropriation of the clothes. She had no wish for him to see her in such scandalous garb but she had to admit it really was very comfortable.

Approaching the fourth snare there was a hush in the air that made her pause. When she peered carefully around an obstructing tree trunk her heart leapt at the sight of a pig caught in her trap. She wanted to do a little dance of happiness but as she watched she quickly realised that the coiled cord had failed to do its work. Perhaps she had made the loop too big because the animal had somehow got both its head and one of its forelegs through and though the snare had tightened stopping its escape, the pig's leg had prevented the intended quick strangulation. Instead the creature was trapped and distressed but very much alive, the motion of its flanks showing its rapid breathing.

Sarah's heart sank. She was going to have to kill it. She checked that her knife was securely tucked in her waistband and crept forward slowly. The failure of her stealthy approach was immediately apparent when her intended victim began to struggle, stumbling on three legs as it tried to dislodge the cord. There was nothing for it, she took two hasty steps, grabbed hold of the rope and fell on the animal. The pig let out an almighty screech. It began to writhe in earnest, its flanks heaving as it laboured against her groping hands. She managed to pin its unbound front leg, catching it under the snout with her other hand. It was stronger than she would have imagined. A hind foot slammed into her thigh and she gave a grunt of pain. Shrill squeals accompanied the swine's thrashing. Her knife was still tucked into her trousers and both her hands were otherwise occupied. Letting go of its leg she reached for the knife but the pig, sensing weakness, heaved suddenly and she lost her grip. It kicked her again and tried to run. Sarah felt her shoulder wrench as she grabbed for the rope to prevent the pig's escape. It flung itself frenziedly about while she clung to the rope. The rough weave grazed her fingers and she fought to keep hold. She was panting with effort, sweat rolling down her neck. With a huge groan of exertion she pulled on the taut rope, dragging the wildly wriggling animal towards her. When it was close enough she leapt again, slinging her whole arm around its body and pushing up its snout. She fumbled for her knife. The pig gave another ear-piercing squeal that ended abruptly in a gargling sigh as she dragged the knife across its throat with all the power she could muster. Warm blood gushed over her hands and the beast gave a wet snort, its sides heaving as impending death sapped it of its remaining strength. Under her pitying eyes the creature gave one or two shallow, bubbling breaths before collapsing to the ground.

She sat back on her heels, her breathing laboured, sweat stinging her eyes. The forest was still for a time, as if holding its breath, marking the death of one of its own with a moment of silence, and then gradually the raucous calls resumed. Sarah regarded her kill for a long time as she caught her breath and then fierce pride at her accomplishment surged through her.

* * *

The weight of the pig slung across her back caused her to stagger as she entered the clearing and when she dropped the limp carcass to the ground she rolled her shoulders with a groan, wincing a little at the sharp ache. She turned towards the fireside and almost jumped out of her skin when she realised Billy was standing motionless, one hand braced against a tree, the other trembling visibly at his side, his face pale and anxious. He had a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders and sweat dripped down his neck. Sarah put a hand to her chest and blew out a long breath.

'Good grief! You scared me. What are you doing up?' she said, moving smoothly to his side.

'I'm sorry,' he said, closing his eyes for a second, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his hollow eyes. 'I thought I heard screaming.'

Sarah looked at him blankly for a moment. Screaming? She hadn't been screaming. Then it dawned on her. The shrill squeals of a terrified animal probably sounded a lot like screaming.

'It was the pig,' she explained. 'It wasn't too keen to be dinner.'

'You caught a pig? That's great.' The smile he gave her was genuine, if a little listless but then she saw him take deep breath and his smile broadened. 'Really brilliant. You won't need me at all before long.'

She nudged him gently with her elbow.

'Don't be silly, who do you think it was taught me to tie snares? I think it counts as a joint effort.'

Taking his arm she hustled him back to bed but he refused to lie down, stubbornly decrying his need for rest. He did deign to sit however, admitting irritably that he hadn't realised how weak he was. She settled a blanket over him and turned to get his cup. When she turned back to him he was frowning.

'What are you wearing?'

She looked down. She had forgotten the trousers.

'I found them in your trunk, I thought they would be a bit more practical for hunting.'

She must look like an absolute fright, not just because of her indecent clothing but the strands of sweaty hair escaping from her scarf, the dirt on her shirt and the blood on her hands. Billy watched her with a strange expression on his face as he scrutinised her from her head to her bare toes. He swallowed and cleared his throat as if he would speak but silence followed.

To fill the uncomfortable pause she blurted out, 'I had not intended for you to see me dressed like this.'

Under her fascinated eyes his throat bobbed as he swallowed again.

'You look…ferocious,' he said, his voice oddly gruff.

She tried to quell the feeling of pride that his words rekindled, she should be mortified but she wasn't. She felt powerful and capable and couldn't find fault with his statement. Casting a rueful glance at her blood caked hands she said, 'I look like a pirate.'

'Scourge of the seven seas.'

She flashed him a grin. 'Something like that.'

The cool water of the stream washed the worst of the blood from her hands and then Sarah set about preparing the carcass for cooking. Once it was spitted over the fire she turned her attention to Billy. He needed a wash, as did the blankets he had been sleeping on for the last seven days. The air in the hut was fetid with the rank odours of illness and unwashed man. He was still sat up when she came in, his eyes closed and his jaw slack, but his eyes flicked open when he heard her enter.

'You need a wash, you smell and I need to change your bedding,' she said briskly, paying no attention his groan. 'I'll check your wound afterwards and bind it with a clean dressing.'

It was obvious that he wanted to shrug off her supporting hands, annoyed by his own frailty, but equally clear to them both that he needed her help. He allowed her to lead him outside and sit him next to the bucket of water and the soap that she had prepared for him.

'Are you going to help me with this too?' he said with a hint of resentment in his tone. She ignored both the slight tightening in her gut and his frustration induced spite.

'I think you can manage that by yourself,' she said, her lips forming a prim line. 'Besides, I have the singular joy of washing your blankets.'

He grimaced and picked up the soap to dip it into the bucket. As he began smoothing soap over his arms she stooped under the doorway and surveyed the dwelling. Gathering up his filthy bedding she tossed it into a pile near the door. The rush mattress she dragged outside and slung over the line to air. Bundling the blankets in her arms she turned in the doorway to find she had an excellent view as Billy stood up shakily and upended the bucket of over his head to rinse away the soap. The rivulets of water trailed down his body drawing her eyes with them until she saw pale skin, untouched by the sun's rays. It took her a moment to realise that he had stripped off his dirty trousers. Her mouth went dry and she whirled away, ducking back into the hut to lean against the wall, heart hammering.

She closed her eyes trying to forget what she had just seen but her treacherous imagination helpfully filled in every breath-taking detail. Despite the ravages his fever had wrought on his body he was still a work of art, the epitome of masculine perfection. Where had that thought come from? Objectively it was true but she shouldn't be thinking it. Neither should she be dwelling on the jut of his shoulder blades and the flexing of muscles across his broad back nor the obvious demarcation where bronzed skin met ivory. She bit her lip and silently chastised herself. The faint sound of fabric flapping told her that he was drying himself, and hopefully would at least be covered. Straightening her spine she took out a spare pair of trousers from the trunk and carried them outside laid on top of the blankets. She kept her eyes averted from him, bending to pick up his discarded trousers and dropping the clean pair with barely a glance in his direction. Pretend nothing was wrong, that seemed like the best course.

The sound of his voice arrested her retreat to the stream. She looked up unwillingly but he was, if not decently attired, at least covered from the waist down by a blanket, the clean trousers in his hand.

'Sarah, I'm sorry I keep being such a bastard.'

She cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow.

'Are you suggesting that is something new?'

His face fell almost ludicrously and she fought to stifle the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. It took him a moment but she saw the instant he realised she was joking. He grinned at her and then said seriously: 'I really am sorry, I just hate feeling so useless. You shouldn't have to do everything for me.'

'Given that there was a time you did everything for me, I think you've probably earned a break from you labours while you recuperate.'

* * *

A few days later Sarah sat basking in the sunlight, her hat discarded at her feet. Her embroidery lay in her lap waiting for her to pick it up again but for the moment she was content to enjoy the peace and quiet, a short reprieve from the exertions of the last couple of days. Billy had disappeared but she wasn't concerned, he wouldn't have gone far. He was being oddly secretive but she couldn't fathom his reasons and she was far too intent on enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face to give it much thought.

When he did return she was dozing and his dry comment of: 'You'll burn if you sit there much longer,' drew a startled exclamation out of her as she opened her eyes to find him standing over her, his hands behind his back.

'Where have you been?' she asked rather ungraciously.

'Funny you should ask, I've been finishing your gift,' he said ignoring his less than enthusiastic reception and sitting down next to her. He looked tired but the brightness in his eyes had returned and the tremor in his hands had disappeared.

'My gift?'

'Yes, I made you a gift.'

'Why?' she said without thinking and then realised that that was probably not the most mannerly of responses.

'I'm reasonably certain that it is still the done thing in polite society for gentlemen to give gifts to ladies they hold in esteem. Now I know I'm not a fucking gentleman but still, I thought it would be alright for me to give you some token.'

She immediately became a little flustered, 'Yes, it is, I suppose but you didn't have to…I don't need a gift.'

'Don't say that, I've just spent several days making this, you can't refuse it.'

'I didn't mean that I didn't want it, I just meant you didn't have to do that…' she trailed off uncertainly.

He smiled at her, 'Sarah, thank you for nursing me back to health despite me being a grumpy bastard, for making my meals so much more palatable and for helping to restore my sanity which was well on its way to being lost before you came here.' He ducked his head almost shyly and brought his hands out from behind his back. 'I hope you like it.'

She took the object from him, a perfect set of embroidery hoops made from beautifully smooth, dark wood. She looked up at him doubtfully.

'Where did they come from?'

'I made them. Well, carved them really.'

'For me?'

'Of course for you! Jesus, have you never received a present before?'

'Not like this.'

'I know it's not the finest gift but it was the best I could do given our circumstances…'

She leaned forward and impulsively embraced him, effectively cutting off his next words. He tensed as she put her arms around his neck but then relaxed, his hands coming to rest cautiously on her waist.

'Billy, stop talking. I love it,' she said quietly. He abruptly pulled away from her and stood, swaying slightly but looking pleased with himself.

'There's more actually,' he said and then walked into the hut. When he came out he was holding what looked like a ball of yarn, which he deposited in her lap as he sat down again.

'It's silk for your embroidery, you said you were running out. I unravelled one of my scarves.'

Her hand crept up to her cheek as she stared at the silk threads, a mixture of dark green and gold.

'What have I done to upset you, you look like you're about to cry?' he said sounding worried.

'Nothing, nothing,' she said wiping her eyes. 'It's just such a thoughtful gift.'

She embraced him once more and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Allowing her cheek to linger for a moment against his, she savoured the scrape of his stubble on her skin and the masculine scent of him. His fingers flexed on her waist and she supressed a slight shiver. She reluctantly pulled away and said fervently: 'Thank you.'

He rubbed his cheek absently, looking a little embarrassed. Feeling he deserved some sort of explanation for her overly emotional response she clasped her hands possessively around the hoops and silk and said, 'Woodes used to get me gifts occasionally but they were never…things that I would appreciate. They were things he thought I _should_ appreciate. Books on subjects he enjoyed, when he knew our tastes differed wildly, jewellery befitting his wife but not that I liked, that sort of thing.'

'To be fair, there's not a lot of jewellery or books to be found on this island, otherwise I might have accidently got you a gift you hated.'

She shook her head, taking no notice of his attempt at levity. 'I don't think so, you see people.' But what she really meant to say was, 'You see me,' and that thought was intoxicating in a way she couldn't fully explain but it both scared and comforted her. 'He gave me his own book for my birthday once.'

'As in the one he wrote?'

'Yes, that one.'

'Perhaps he thought you would enjoy it?' he said rather lamely. She gave him a faint smile.

'I think perhaps he forgot, my birthday that is. He'd signed it, made a great show of the fact it was signed by the author.'

'Jesus Christ!' Billy muttered. 'And did you enjoy it?'

'No,' she looked at him guiltily. 'I thought it was pompous and derivative.'

Billy snorted. 'I take it you didn't share that opinion with him.'

'Strangely enough, I thought it better left unsaid.'


	14. Chapter 14

The fire popped and a log settled, startling Sarah out of her reverie. The bright red streaks of sunset had faded to a hazy grey gloom. Her needle wavered in the loose grasp of her motionless fingers, the thread coiled on the fabric. She tightened the stitch absently and pinned the needle to the cloth, setting the whole thing aside. Her eyes went automatically to Billy. He was staring at her silently, his book abandoned. The firelight glinted golden in his eyes, his face shrouded in flickering shadows. Curiosity gnawed at her. Did he know that he occupied her mind to the point of distraction, was that why he watched her so intently? The cloak of the descending darkness gave her the nerve to voice her thoughts.

'You talked a lot when you were fevered,' she said, her tone carefully casual. Billy's gaze sharpened and he took a deep breath.

'Did I?' he said mildly.

'You seemed to be revisiting memories of the past.'

'Oh?' His tone was not encouraging but she pressed on regardless.

'Who is Gates?'

For a second she thought his eyes blazed with emotion but she wasn't sure, it could have been a trick of the ever shifting firelight. She tilted her head questioningly at him.

'Hal Gates was someone I used to know,' he said and then fell silent.

It was like worrying a loose tooth, potentially painful but she couldn't quite leave it alone. She tried a different tack.

'How did you come to be sailing with Captain Flint? Are you from Nassau?'

Billy shook his head.

'No, I was born in London. I was press ganged by the Navy and when Flint took my ship I chose to join him.'

It was the longest sentence he had yet uttered but he didn't elaborate further.

'Why didn't you go home?'

'I couldn't…I couldn't face my father.'

'No?'

'No.'

She waited as the silence lengthened. Billy flicked his eyes to hers, then to the fire and then back again. He huffed a breath, one finger picking abstractedly at a splinter on the corner of the trunk.

'I didn't volunteer to go to sea. I was forced into it, taken from my family with no warning.'

He stopped again. She didn't speak and was rewarded when he continued, haltingly at first but by end the words were almost tumbling over each other. The picture he painted, to her growing horror, was one of hardship and servitude, daubed with the vivid hues of misery and pain. It was clear that vicious beatings for tiny transgressions were an almost daily occurrence; that animals were kept in better conditions and fed better too; that the officers were cruel and hard men who abused their power and those in their charge whenever the mood took them. It was sickening to think that this went on aboard the ships of the Navy, that this was the treatment meted out to those poor children. Her heart broke for the boy he had been, for the child who had pleaded with her not to lash him again.

He looked up at her, shame and something darker in his eyes.

'Flint gave me the opportunity to revenge myself on the man who had taken me from my family and I took it.'

'What did you do?'

He looked uncomfortable under her gaze and shifted uneasily.

'You won't like this story.'

'Probably not, but I want to hear it.'

He stood suddenly and she wondered if he would just walk away, away from her intrusive questions, away from her inquisitive pestering. He didn't. Picking up a log he placed it on the dying fire and resumed his seat with a sigh.

'I don't want you to look at me the way you did in the beginning,' he admitted softly.

'I'm not a child, Billy, I am aware of what you are and all that implies.'

'But hearing the things I've done…' he stopped and sighed again.

'Will not change my opinion of you,' she said firmly. 'If anything it may banish some of my more lurid imaginings. You forget that most of my knowledge of pirates comes from sensationalist newspaper stories.'

'I killed him,' he said flatly.

'Good,' she said with a nod of approval.

'Good?'

'A scoundrel who preys on children in such a way shouldn't be allowed to live.'

'He was a Naval officer.'

'That doesn't preclude him from being an evil man.'

He gazed at her wonderingly for an instant and then lowered his eyes, staring at his fisted hands.

'My father wouldn't have shared your opinion,' he said quietly.

'Oh? Did you ask him?'

'No, I just knew.'

She wanted to say more but it wasn't her place. The possibility that his father wouldn't have forgiven him seemed ridiculous to her but she didn't know his father, maybe he was right. Perhaps the man would have renounced his son for the sake of his principles. It was too late now anyway, hopeless to wish the deeds undone.

'I couldn't go home after that, so I joined Flint's crew.'

'But something went wrong?'

'Gates, Flint's quartermaster, he took me under his wing when I joined the crew, taught me everything he knew, supported my promotion to boatswain. I owed him everything and Flint murdered him.'

'Murdered him? Why?'

'Because he disagreed with Flint. Flint was chasing the Urca de Lima, a Spanish treasure galleon, and when the price to the crew's welfare got too high Gates tried to stop Flint, so he killed him.'

'But you weren't there?' she said softly, remembering his anguished words in the midst of his fever. He stared at her blankly for a moment, his eyes red and distant in memories and then shook his head.

'No, at that time I was being tortured by the British Navy.'

'But you escaped and went back to Captain Flint?'

'I thought he was the best opportunity for the whole crew to have their freedom, make enough money to have no further worries. I didn't trust him but I thought I could get my revenge on him once we had achieved what it was we set out to do. Thrown off the yoke of oppression that the British kept trying to place on us. Only…only I got tired of it, of looking the other way as he became more ruthless, sacrificed lives without thought, all for his own agenda which I came to realise was not necessarily what the rest of us were working towards. I made a stupid decision, challenged him at the wrong time and got a lot of people killed.' He paused, scrubbing his face with his hand. 'We'd worked so hard, inciting resistance in Nassau so the death of Charles Vane would not have been for nothing, enduring months of danger and fear and then Flint just shows up and starts using _my_ men for his own personal war. I didn't trust him and I'd lost men. He wanted to retreat and I defied him.' He raised his eyebrows ruefully, 'Flint was right, we should have retreated but I couldn't see past my hatred.' He looked down, shaking his head. 'Jesus, what a fucking mess!'

Billy was silent for some time and Sarah eventually asked tentatively, 'What happened then?'

'There were reprisals on the slaves and the alliance fell apart because of me. I was still blinded by my hatred of Flint, hell bent on convincing Silver to kill him.'

'John Silver?' she interrupted.

Nodding, Billy said, 'The quartermaster, the man I'd schemed to replace Flint with. I tried to force him to choose between us. And he did, but he chose Flint. Told my men that I'd betrayed them. I'd lived with them, bled with them, would have died for them but the man I had created from nothing but rumour and invention was so powerful that at his word they all turned on me. They gave me to the slaves as reparation for my actions and the slaves beat me half to death. Ben Gunn, a…friend, freed me when they came under attack from the Spanish.'

'What happened to him, Ben Gunn, I mean?'

'I'm not sure, he might be dead. I almost killed him myself but when it came to it I couldn't pull the trigger.'

'But he was your friend…why would you kill him?'

He looked up and caught her horrified expression.

'That's the look I was hoping to avoid, I told you that you wouldn't like this story. I'm not a good person, I've done terrible things.'

'Yes you have,' she said calmly, schooling her expression into a more neutral one, 'but you are not a monster. Monsters don't feel remorse and you're obviously feeling plenty.'

He looked at her quizzically, 'Not a monster? I like to know what I would've had to have done to make you consider me a monster.'

'The papers suggested Charles Vane ate the flesh of his victims, that's pretty monstrous although I have a suspicion it isn't true.'

'It's not,' he said shortly. 'Charles Vane did many bad things but he was a decent man when it came down to it.'

She gave a small smile, 'That's relief, I hoped it wasn't a common practice for pirates. I think I'd be a sight easier to catch than a pig, bigger too.'

'But also cleverer,' he countered. 

'Than a pig? Mr Manderly, you'll turn my head with these fulsome compliments.' She saw his lips twitch at her weak attempt at humour and was satisfied. 'So, after the Spanish came?' she prompted him.

'They sacked the island, killed everyone they could get their hands on including Eleanor. Rogers lost his head completely, he had invited the Spanish to the island to protect her and instead they killed her. He was consumed by his rage and regret and so was I. I allowed my capture, insisted on an audience with him. I still wanted to get to Flint, to make all of them pay, and Rogers seemed my best avenue for revenge.'

The sound of her husband's name made her recoil a fraction but Billy didn't seem to notice, he was staring into the gloom.

'I helped him plan the attack which was going to get him the cache of Spanish treasure and Flint and Silver. I knew a way to drive a wedge between Flint and Silver.'

'How?'

'A woman, one of the Maroons called Madi, who was Silver's lover. She had been captured by the British but they had no idea who she was. I informed Rogers of her connection to Silver and the high office she held with the Maroons. We used her as bait to lure Silver and Flint here.'

'To this island?'

Billy nodded. 'There was a battle, I tried to kill Flint and failed, fell into the sea and washed up here. Before that we destroyed the ship in the estuary, set fire to the magazine and then shot the men who were trying to escape the burning ship. It was a slaughter.'

'You shot your crew?'

'As many of them as I could. I was so fucking furious, so bitter.'

'But not enough to kill Mr Gunn?'

'A brief spark of humanity,' he acknowledged, 'but don't think to bestow any unnecessary virtues on me. I killed men I had sailed with for years and felt nothing, not until later. I began all this with only the welfare of the crew on my mind. That was what caused me to hate Flint so much. I didn't think he cared for the crew, just used them to achieve his own personal aims without any thought of what it cost them. It's a fucking irony, Flint tied himself in knots because he couldn't face being the villain in his story, and yet in the end I became the villain, worse than Flint. So intent on revenge that I did far more terrible things than him in an effort to make him and Silver feel some portion of the rage and pain I was feeling. I nearly killed Madi,' he admitted.

'But you didn't?' she asked gently.

'I had a knife to her throat, I told her I was going to kill her. She was so calm, I was a fucking mess. She told me if I killed her I would just be creating a martyr for their cause and she was right. A wise woman is Madi, I should have listened when she agreed with Flint that we had to retreat and not challenged him.'

He scrubbed at his eyes again and Sarah noticed that they were red and wet with unshed tears. She wasn't sure what to say, some aspects of his story appalled her but she could see how much it had cost him. The betrayal he talked of had been the worst aspect and yet he had been betrayed first. She wondered if Madi had been the woman that he had spoken of in his delirium, he seemed to admire her but the story he wove didn't quite seem to fit with his previous entreaties.

She got up and walked around the fire, Billy's eyes following her movements. Kneeling in front of him she took his hands in hers. He half-heartedly tried to pull away from her grip but she didn't let him. His head dropped, regarding their clasped hands, refusing to meet her eyes.

'You're not a villain, Billy, and you're not a monster, not to me.' He opened his mouth to respond but she pressed his hands to hush him. 'I know you have committed terrible crimes and yet I can't find it in myself to condemn you. Your actions seem a logical reaction to the betrayals visited upon you.' She gave his hands another squeeze. 'You don't frighten me.'

'I should.'

'You did at one point, for quite a while, but not now. I'm not sure what changed, perhaps it was me.'

'I've lulled you into a false sense of security.'

'Is it false?'

'It's not false. You have nothing to fear from me.'

'I know.'

'I don't understand how you can be so complacent. After what I've just told you, you should be fleeing in terror. What if I'd killed Rogers? I wanted to the whole time I was with him, I hated him so much. Would you be so quick to forgive me, to overlook my crimes?'

'I don't know. Probably not, but there were times when I would have happily killed him myself for what he did to me. Perhaps I would have joined you, shot him myself or perhaps, like you my finger would have faltered on the trigger,' she said cooly.

'I don't know how to…' His voice faltered and she waited patiently until he tried again. 'I can't take back the things I've done, I can't be the man I once was.'

'No,' she agreed softly. 'You can only put those things behind you and try to forgive yourself.'

He grunted scornfully.

'You can't change what you did, but you could do better in the future, if that's what you want.' She bumped their joined hands against his chest. 'God sees you, sees your heart. He'll know if you're in earnest.'

'And you think He'll forgive me? You think anyone could forgive me?' he said, the vulnerability in his tone urging her to quiet his fears with an embrace. Instead she contented herself with pressing the back of his hand to her cheek and nodding confidently.

'Of course.'

She didn't let her doubts show. Not doubts concerning his sincerity or indeed the Lord's capacity for absolution. It just seemed sometimes to be so…arbitrary, her experiences having shaken her faith that virtue would be rewarded. Clerics always claimed that it was not for mere mortals to question God's plan but to her it seemed unfathomable. Why had He placed her on this island? Why had He saved Billy and left all her other prayers unanswered? Was there some importance to Billy's presence, was she there to help him? Was he there to help her? And if either was true, then how?

Billy withdrawing his hands from hers pulled her from her contemplation. He pushed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets.

'I think it might be too late for me.'

'Billy, no.'

She grasped his knee but her hand slid away when he stood, his shoulders hunched and an anguished look in his eyes. She gazed beseechingly up at him from where she knelt at his feet, hands folded in her lap.

'Don't look at me like that,' he said harshly. 'I can't change the man I am now, I don't even fucking recognise myself!'

She put a hand to his hip.

'You _can_ change.'

He brushed her hand away angrily and turned from her. When he spoke again his voice was husky, as if he were fighting tears.

'I want to, more than you know, but I'm someone else now and I don't know if I can be the man you want me to be,' he said striding off into the darkness.

'I don't want…' Sarah began but he had already disappeared, lost in the shadows. She slumped back on her heels and sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For your listening pleasure, I pretty much played 'Please, please, please let me get what I want' by Slow Moving Millie on repeat (I prefer the tempo to the Smiths version) while writing this, so that is Billy's song for this chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

Billy came back eventually but the span of a day and night had not improved his mood and Sarah almost regretted the impulse that had made her probe him about his past. His anger had dissolved but their discussion had soured his temper and he stomped about the camp morose and taciturn, apparently wrestling with his demons. Sarah felt she understood him better now and, despite his misgivings, his revelations had not changed her opinion of him but his sullenness was starting to grate on her nerves and, when combined with her own anxious reflections, made her head throb dully.

She pressed a hand to her temple trying to ease the tension behind her eyes. Their talk of change had led to a fruitless contemplation of her future. Until she had made her reckless decision to claim Woodes back her path had been clearly laid before her. Bestowed by her father on a gentleman of his preference, and later children of her own to raise, her choices narrow, simple and straightforward. But she had cast all of that aside with her rash flight and although she saw it as a freedom, a gift not a burden, it was also daunting that her new reality was filled with uncertainty. The fact that she could neither settle into the quiet contentment of their shared life nor count on an inevitable rescue vexed her. The helplessness of their situation, dependant on the actions of others, unable to save themselves was galling to the extreme. She wanted to act, to do something to steer her own course for once in her life but instead was forced to bow to the whims of a capricious fate.

'I'm going to the wreck, we really need to get those barrels out,' Billy announced suddenly, breaking into her introspection. She blinked and stretched, rising to her feet.

'Alright, give me a moment to put on something more appropriate for scrambling around the ship,' she said.

He looked at her quizzically.

'Well, you're not going alone. Not this time,' she said firmly.

'You can't come, it's too dangerous.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'I'm aware of that, that's why I'm coming.'

'I'll be fine.' There was a mulish set to his jaw but she boldly stared him down, knowing she could be just as stubborn as him.

'Fine,' he said exasperatedly after a short pause. 'Just be bloody careful.'

'Advice you'd do well to follow if I remember rightly.'

He looked at her for a long moment before stalking off, grumbling under his breath.

He really was a delightful companion at the moment, she thought, opening her trunk to pull out her trousers and shirt.

* * *

The journey down to the wreck was accomplished in brooding silence and Sarah was heartily fed up. She found she was wasn't above needling Billy to get a reaction and so, as they began shoving the rowboat down the beach towards the water, she said, 'You realise no-one found the treasure. Captain Flint hid it somewhere and it was never recovered. There's a strong possibility it's still here on the island.'

He grunted noncommittally.

The little boat carved into the surf and Sarah jumped in before Billy could protest or suggest that she stay behind on the shore, taking up the oars defiantly. Billy pushed the boat fully out onto the water before vaulting smoothly in and seizing the oars from her with a reproving look. She grimaced but accepted his usurping of her task, moving to the prow to stare at the approaching ship. Now she was close she wondered if she had been a little bit hasty in her insistence that she accompany him. The blackened timbers and ominous creaking that echoed across the water were singularly unnerving but she refused to admit to her reservations, she had her pride.

'We could look for it,' she said.

'That treasure's more trouble than it's worth. It ruined the lives of almost everyone who touched it, who coveted it. I would have thought you of all people would realise the fallacy of wealth or did I read you wrong?' he responded sourly.

It was a little insulting but he was at least engaging with her.

'I'm not really interested in riches, more the adventure of locating buried pirate treasure.' She didn't mention that she craved a purpose, a goal to distract her from their predicament. 'Although if I were to be completely practical, it might be easier to induce someone to rescue us if we can provide them with a healthy bribe as recompense,' she said as hull of their vessel bumped against the wreck and she busied herself securing it to the interwoven ropes that hung down the sides.

'Or they'll just kill us and take it anyways,' he muttered. Sarah turned and placed her hands on her hips.

'You really do like to see the good in people, don't you?'

'It's a strong possibility, whether you like it or not. Those who anchor here are unlikely to be honest folk,' he said gesturing her forward impatiently. She wondered if he was aware of her misgivings. Given their stubborn stand off earlier, he was probably be enjoying her discomfort. Gritting her teeth she began hauling herself up the netting, stopping near the top to glance down. The drop surprised and alarmed her. She swallowed hard and focused instead on her surly companion who for some reason was staring up and hadn't even started climbing.

'Are you coming?' she called down to him.

Billy blinked uncertainly and she thought that she saw a dull flush creep up his neck. He sprang forward and began scaling the side of the ship. Sarah swung herself over the side, onto the waiting deck and Billy dropped down next to her only a minute later as she was surveying the carnage. The damage caused by the fire was very obvious, but it was the dark stains on the planks that turned her stomach. She looked away and met his troubled gaze.

'C'mon,' Billy said gruffly, 'The food stores are this way. Follow in my footsteps, I don't know which parts are sound.'

Sarah followed him cautiously, casting anxious glances around as they made their way into the bowels of the ship, the smell of scorched wood and mildew rising up from the depths. He reached an intersection of corridors and glanced down the left hand one before turning right. Sarah looked back as she passed and paused, seeing a broken section of flooring and a splatter of browning blood staining one of the smashed boards. She gave a shudder and quickly followed Billy down the stairs. He leaned back to duck under a low beam before straightening up and watching her descend. One of the lower steps was broken and he wordlessly put out a hand. She clasped his fingers gratefully and allowed him to steady her as she stepped down. Once her feet were planted securely he dropped both her hand and gaze, striding to the stacked barrels at the other end of the room. Sarah rubbed her fingertips together as she trailed after him, unconsciously savouring the warmth of his callused touch.

Of the five unspoiled barrels she could only just manage to heave the two smaller casks up to the deck. She tried not to resent the ease with which Billy hefted each of the three larger ones onto his shoulder, nor be distracted by the play of muscles in his biceps as he did so.

While Billy was fetching the last barrel up from the hold Sarah sat on the rail and pondered how they would get the heavy wooden containers down to the boat. She knew she couldn't both carry and climb and, despite his strength, she doubted Billy could do it either. Squinting in the glare of the overhead sun she nibbled thoughtfully at a fingernail. Across the weather-beaten deck a frayed cargo net caught her eye and she smiled, slipping down from her perch.

She'd barely gone more than two steps when Billy's arm swept around her waist and dragged her back, the barrel on his shoulder dropping with a bang.

'What the hell are you doing?' he said roughly, his breath hot on her ear. For a moment Sarah couldn't answer. His strong arm around her rib cage was like a vice and the press of his chest against her seemed to have completely scrambled her wits. For a time she could only focus on his ragged breathing and the heat of his body, forgetting to even try to extricate herself.

'I don't know how safe that section is, you need to be careful,' he said eventually, his voice a low murmur that send a shiver down her spine. He rather abruptly let go and stepped away, causing her to stumble. She caught herself and turned to glare at him, the peculiar yearning swiftly replaced by irritation in the face of his brusqueness. She wanted to remind him imperiously that she was quite capable of taking care of herself, however despite her annoyance her response was candid.

'I'm sorry, I forgot.'

'Clearly,' he said as he began treading carefully towards the net, a wealth of condescension in his tone. She narrowed her eyes at him. He was being absolutely infuriating today but all the same, she held her breath until he returned with the bundle of ropes.

When he had lashed all the barrels neatly together he looked up at her.

'You go down to the boat and I'll lower it down while you guide it in,' he said. Sarah eyed the bundle of netted casks doubtfully.

'Can you manage them all?'

'Yes,' he said shortly.

She huffed, trying not to think about the drop to the water and began her descent. The ropes abraded her hands and her muscles felt shaky from the unexpected exertion so it was with relief that her feet found the planking of the rowboat. When she called out to him and he began to lower their haul she took a judicious step back, not absolutely convinced he hadn't overestimated his strength but despite her very tiny doubts she was soon guiding the barrels into the bottom of the boat. As soon as they were secure Billy threw down the rest of the rope and hopped over the side, climbing nimbly down.

It was only as they were dragging the rowboat up the beach, its hull leaving deep furrows in the sand, that its significance finally hit Sarah.

It was a boat, an actual boat.

She had seen it before of course but at the time she had been so desperate to find Billy that its potential had not occurred to her. They were trapped on this island and it hadn't crossed Billy's mind to mention the boat? Admittedly it was very small and had no sails but in this situation a boat was a boat. The ship was as he had described it, a fire ravaged sunken carcass in the middle of the river. No possibility of sailing that triumphantly into Nassau, but the rowboat was intact and sturdy. Surely with a bit of planning they could find some way to utilise it to get themselves back to civilisation?

'You didn't tell me there was a boat.' It came out more accusatory than she had intended. He gave the little vessel a cursory glance and picked up a barrel.

'I didn't realise it was important,' he responded indifferently.

'You didn't realise it was important? A boat? When we are trapped on an island?' She tried and failed to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. He looked at the boat again and then gave her a patronising smile.

'You're thinking to escape in that?'

'Well, why not?' she answered stoutly. He had the audacity to scoff and shake his head which made her want to grind her teeth in a most unladylike manner.

'Do you know how far it is to the nearest landfall?' he said, that superior smile still on his lips.

'No, Billy, I don't. In case you had forgotten I don't have the faintest idea where I am,' she said in a level voice, concentrating on shouldering a cask to keep her irritation under control.

'It's a long way,' he clarified unnecessarily, turning up the shore and making his way back to the forest, forcing her to follow. 'Trying to make it in that boat would be suicide. If the storms didn't get us we'd likely run out of water. And were you planning to row the whole way?' he said over his shoulder.

'I thought we could fashion a sail,' she admitted, feeling more and more foolish in the face of his condescension.

'From what?'

She didn't say anything but she did succumb to the temptation to grind her teeth.

'It would be suicide, and I'm not quite ready to die just yet,' he reiterated.

'Could we not find a way to send a message?'

'Got any pigeons hidden under your clothes? Or were you planning to train one of the humming birds?' he said sarcastically.

'I was thinking more a message in a bottle, it would be something at least,' she said with as much dignity as she could muster.

'Jesus Christ!' was his only response. She felt her anger rising, her temples throbbing in steady accompaniment to her rising heart rate.

'Why are you being so stubborn about this? If you're so clever what's your plan? At least I am trying to find a way to get home.'

'Home?' he said wistfully. 'You think I haven't spent the last eight months wracking my brains for some way out of here? Unless someone comes there's no way of saving ourselves and even if they do there's no way of saving me. I can't return to Nassau, not unless I'm tired of living.' His voice rose as he spoke, regret and frustration colouring his tone.

'So go somewhere else, you don't have to go to Nassau.'

'Wherever I go he'll find me.'

'Silver?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'Don't do that. It does matter, why does he terrify you so much?'

'He doesn't terrify me!' Billy said through gritted teeth.

'Really?' she said, her disbelief audible.

'For fucks sakes! Will you just leave it alone? God, it's no wonder…' he stopped talking suddenly. Sarah halted on the path, thumped the cask down by her foot and glared at his retreating back.

'It's no wonder, what?' she said dangerously. Billy stopped walking and turned back to her, looking shamefaced.

'Nothing, it doesn't matter.'

'No, Billy, do say it. It's no wonder my husband left me?'

'For fuck's sakes, he's not your husband!' he burst out.

'He is my husband,' she said automatically.

'No, he's not. He married someone else which should be a pretty big clue! And yet you've still got this misguiding loyalty to him which he doesn't fucking deserve when you could…'

He stopped suddenly and turned away. Sarah's hands formed impotent fists, her fury searching for a physical outlet.

'Just because you are too much of a coward to leave doesn't mean I should have to stay here forever.'

As soon as the words passed her lips she regretted them. He turned and glared at her.

'I'm not a coward,' he said. 'I just…' he stopped again.

'You just…?'

'Nothing. You just need to get over this pathetic obsession with your _husband_.' He drew the syllables out mockingly.

'Pathetic?' She glowered at him, her simmering resentment barely held in check. He met her stare levelly.

'Pathetic,' he reiterated harshly.

She straightened her spine, anger coursing through her, and hissed venomously, 'Fuck you, Billy!'

She relished the feel of the obscenity on her tongue. His expression didn't change but there was a glint of a challenge in his eyes, goading her to further articulations of her anger.

'Fuck Woodes!' she said and it felt good.

She turned away from Billy, wishing to put some distance between them, and started moving back towards the beach. She heard him swear and a thud as he dropped the cask so she picked up her pace.

'Fuck this island!' she shouted as she ran through the trees and breasted the beach. Sprinting down to the edge of the surf she looked out across the river at the broken wreck and screamed 'Fuck!' at the top of her lungs, a drawn out cry of frustration and fury.

As the echoes of her shout began returning to her she sank to her knees and wept. For her old life, a life she wasn't even sure she wanted any more. For Billy, for the betrayals that had broken him. For the failure of her marriage and the time she had wasted on a man who had never even cared for her, and for the hopelessness of their situation.

Billy's footsteps thudded on the sand as he slowly approached her shaking form. Dimly, through her heaving sobs, she heard him sink down onto the sand beside her. He very carefully gathered her against him, putting her arms around his neck and cushioning her face on his shoulder. Cradled in his arms she could feel his large hand stroking her hair as he held her, smoothing the strands down the back of her neck. Even as she wept she revelled in the feeling of being held for the first time in a long time. Not since her mother had died had anyone embraced her with any particular degree of affection, comforted her when she was desolate. She continued to weep, soaking his shirt with her tears and crumpling his collar in her fist as she clung to him, while he patiently soothed her, rubbing circles on her back. Eventually she calmed, the flow of tears slowing until she had reached the stage of hiccups and sniffs. He put two fingers under her chin, tilting her face up and wiped the tears off her cheeks, his touch oddly tender and gentler than she would have expected.

'You're getting good at that swearing, I might have to teach you a new word. Feel any better?' he said softly.

She sniffed and managed a weak smile. 'I'm sorry,' she started to say but he cut her off.

'Don't be sorry, it's me who should be sorry. I didn't mean it, Rogers is a fucking idiot and so am I.'

Suddenly incapable of meeting his eye she turned her face back into his shoulder.

'I don't really think you're a coward,' she said, her voice muffled in the fabric of his shirt. It was not the best apology but she hoped that he knew she did not mean the things she had said.

'I don't think you're pathetic, far from it.'

She looked up, the sincerity in his tone chasing away the last vestiges of her anger. As she stared at him longing suffused her. In the shelter of his arms his scent and his nearness made her heart thump. She wondered what he would do if she kissed his cheek again. She wanted to. She wanted...?

She wanted.

'We should be getting back,' she said, pulling away from him and struggling to her feet. He looked up at her and for a second she thought she saw a flash of hurt in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant and he nodded. She turned from him and strode up the beach, not looking back to see if he followed.

No, it was not Billy who was the coward.


	16. Chapter 16

Billy's tall figure awaited her on the path up ahead and Sarah felt her heart lift a little at the sight of him. She had been a long time at the pool, ostensibly washing herself and her clothes but most of the time had been spent vacantly scanning the rushing waterfall, searching for answers in the churning water to questions she could barely acknowledge. She had hoped to leave some of her disordered thoughts behind her at the water's edge but they trailed along beside her, a cloud of whispering turmoil.

A slow smile lit Billy's features as she approached and she tucked a still damp ringlet of her hair behind her ear, smiling shyly back and falling in step with him as he turned towards the clearing.

Their argument and her subsequent fit of weeping seemed to have eased the tension that had been building between them, restoring harmony to their unconventional household. Certainly Billy's sombre disposition had evaporated and although he was occasionally a little pensive, he had regained his humour. If anything, Sarah found him to be in an almost playful mood, teasing her more often than before, his eyes twinkling whenever she met his gaze in a way that she found profoundly unsettling, but also strangely thrilling. The only tension between them now was of her own making, her confusion regarding her feelings for the large pirate making her sometimes skittish in his company but, paradoxically, quite unable to refrain from seeking him out on the flimsiest of pretexts. It had crossed her mind on several occasions that his demeanour was almost flirtatious but she had dismissed the idea almost immediately. It was inconceivable. Men, particularly men as handsome as Billy, did not flirt with Sarah, although they sometimes courted her wealth assiduously.

'I was looking for you, there's a bad storm on its way,' he said, absently taking the basket of washing out of her hands and settling it on his hip as they walked.

Sarah glanced rather doubtfully up through the trees at the cloudless blue sky.

'Really?'

'It's coming in from the sea, can't you smell it?'

She rolled her eyes at him, he never missed an opportunity to mock her lack of weather sense, and then sniffed ostentatiously.

'All I can smell is the trees and hints of unwashed pirate,' she said, wrinkling her nose.

'I'll have you know I bathed this morning,' Billy said grinning.

'Perhaps you should have scrubbed a bit harder,' she said, the memory of the last time she had seen him washing flashing unbidden and glorious in her mind.

'Maybe I need some help,' he murmured so quietly she almost missed it.

She flicked her eyes up and met his mischievous gaze, but there was also something assessing there as if he were analysing her reaction. Her response stuck in her suddenly dry throat, and when she didn't speak he changed the subject.

'We'll need to wait the storm out in the hut,' he said. 'If the winds are strong enough fuck knows what'll be flying about. I've moved your trunk inside so your things don't get damaged.'

'Thank you,' she managed to say, wishing she were not so dull, that the charming coquetry she had seen other women display came naturally to her.

When they reached the clearing Sarah saw that he had been busy, stowing everything away in the chests, including her hammock, and putting out the fire. She looked up at him.

'How bad is it going to be?'

'Hopefully not too bad, but best not to take chances.'

She nodded and followed him into the hut, where he helped her hang up her damp clothes. Fishing in her pockets she pulled out a pretty shell she had found earlier in the day and placed it with the others she had assembled in a little nook. Billy glanced at her collection with a fond smile and then handed her some blankets and a pair of lumpy woollen stockings. She looked at them questioningly.

'The temperature will probably drop, I thought your feet might get cold,' he said.

Sarah struggled to stifle a sudden rush of affection for him and quickly busied herself, tugging open her trunk. She had no clear idea what she was looking for but, mercifully, the playing cards sat on top of her folded clothes and she gathered them up, grateful for the diversion they offered.

It wasn't long before the rain began in earnest, thudding down on the roof top and lashing against the sides of the hut. Fortunately Billy had built himself a sturdy shelter and Sarah felt well protected from the worst of the weather. Although, as he predicted, the air cooled with the onset of the driving rain and the darkness of the leading edge of the storm soon enveloped them, the glow of the lamp and the flickering candles gave a snug feeling to the room. Sarah held up the deck of cards and raised an eyebrow challengingly. Billy, lounging insouciantly on his bunk, met her look with a grin.

'This time, I'm going to beat you, Miss Castle.'

Sarah just smiled, shuffling the cards and dealing them out. There was a sudden flash of lightning, eerie white light slipping through the tiny gaps between the wooden boards, and thunder rumbled threateningly. Sarah, in the act of fanning out the worn cards in her hand, looked up apprehensively. Lightning blazed again, followed by a sharp crack of thunder and in an instant she was choking on the darkness, groaning timbers lurching beneath her feet.

She blinked and the hut rematerialized, Billy's concerned face swimming into focus.

'It's just a storm,' he said softly.

'I know,' she said. 'It just…'

'It took you back there?'

Sarah nodded and took a steadying breath.

'I was so scared,' she admitted. 'But there was an instant, in the midst of it all, when I came up on deck just as we crested a huge wave. The whole deck dropped beneath me and I looked down into the sea as the lightning lit everything up like daylight. I knew that the ship was sinking, that Death was beckoning and yet I felt…' she paused, unable to voice the feeling that had overwhelmed her as the sea had surged up to claim her.

'Alive,' he finished for her, the recognition in his voice making her glance up. She nodded emphatically.

'And invincible, like nothing could touch me. Like I could ride out that storm and a thousand more. Obviously, it only lasted a second but it was one of the most intense experiences of my life.' She bit her lip. 'Although maybe that says more about my life so far than anything else.'

Billy's eyes were dark and knowing as he held her gaze, the rapport between them almost tangible. There was an electricity in the air that Sarah didn't think had anything to do with the storm outside. It made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up and caused a strange tingling sensation on the surface of her skin. She rubbed at her arm absently, tucking it under her blanket.

'You know what would warm us up?' she said, jumping to her feet in a fit of sudden restlessness and fiddling with the lock on her trunk. She flipped open the lid and pulled out one of the flasks of rum.

'I do, but I very much doubt that's what you're about to suggest,' Billy responded.

She turned to scold him, her cheeks unaccountably hot, but he caught sight of the flask and got to his feet. Taking it from her almost reverentially he held it to one of the candles to get a better look.

'Are you actually bringing out the rum for something other than medicinal purposes?'

She shrugged.

'A little won't do any harm.'

'Do you know, my first few weeks here I would've killed for a flask of rum?'

'Well, I'm giving it to you, so if you could refrain that would be appreciated.'

He grinned at her and then held the bottle out.

'Ladies first.'

Uncorking the bottle with a sharp tug Sarah took a sip which made her gag slightly and cough as the rich liquid burned its way down her throat. Billy laughed, taking the flask from her and downing a large swallow with no ill effects at all. Sarah wrapped her blanket more tightly around her, took the proffered rum and seated herself on the trunk, trying not to wince at the roar of the thunder. Her second sip she swallowed with barely a grimace and then she picked up her cards.

'Are you ready to lose again, Mr Manderly?'

Billy pulled a face at her, making her laugh, and then turned his attention to the solemn study of his cards. As they played she noted that he was improving, although she still won every hand. Recently she had been refusing his occasional challenges, thinking that his constant losses would hardly lighten his sullen mood but as his cheerful disposition had resurfaced she had relented.

'How did you learn to play?' he asked as he watched her deal again.

'My brothers taught me and then regretted it almost immediately,' Sarah responded.

Billy picked up his hand and fanned out the cards, a small smile playing on his lips.

'Did you fleece them at every opportunity?'

'Something like that, I certainly never lacked for pin money. James always said had I not been born a lady I would have made an excellent card sharp.' Billy chuckled as Sarah continued, 'It took me some time to realise that my memory and gift for calculating the odds of success were not shared by most of my contemporaries, and that people unconsciously divulge all sorts of information if you take the time to observe them.'

'A formidable arsenal. What sort of information?'

'Woodes flares his nostrils when he picks up a significant card. My father, his eyelid twitches, the tiniest flicker. Mr Barnes always taps the corner of his highest card, quite involuntarily I assure you.'

'And me?'

She eyed him warily and then said a little reluctantly, 'The corner of your mouth.'

'What about it?'

'It's like you're suppressing a smile but there's always a little twitch that gives you away.'

'And you've spent a lot of time staring at my mouth?'

'Observing,' she corrected. 'And assessing.'

'Assessing what?'

'How good you could be.'

'At what?' He raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips.

'Cards, if you learned control.'

'I could be very good, I'm sure, particularly if you help me to practice,' he said with a languid smile that made her stomach flutter. There seemed to be some hidden connotation to his words that she couldn't quite fathom. She looked away and tried to focus on the game.

The door gave a sudden bang in the wind, startling them both. Sarah shivered and pulled her blanket a little tighter. Billy got up with a curse and went to secure the door. While he was knotting the rope that held it shut Sarah leaned over and appropriated the bottle of rum. However, when she tilted it to take a sip she noticed that almost a quarter was already gone and replaced the cork with a regretful huff. Billy came back and settled himself once more, picking up his cards, seemingly intent on his choice of discard.

'Can I have the rum?' he said eventually, without looking up.

Sarah schooled her expression into one of mock severity.

'I think you've had quite enough.'

'You might think that, but the truth is that I've hardly touched a drop.'

She dropped a hand to the bottle. He was not wrong, he had only had a few swigs but the restlessness that had prompted her offer had faded and she was once again mindful of both the rum's medicinal value and their limited supply.

'Please can I have some more rum?' he said again, one brow now raised, an amused glint in his eye.

She shook her head apologetically.

'We might need it in the future.'

'Sarah, my dearest, do you not think my current need of more importance?' he said, with a melting look of entreaty.

Her heart stuttered to a halt at the sound of the calculated endearment and the sweet appeal in his eyes. How she wished he spoke in earnest.

'It has not escaped my notice that I'm only your dearest because you want something from me. I am not so easily deceived,' she retorted in dignified tones.

He winked impishly at her and reached one large hand out for the bottle but she moved it away, tucking it behind her and shaking her head again with a small smile.

'I could take it you know?'

'Yes,' she acknowledged, 'but to use your superior strength on a defenceless lady would be the very basest of behaviour.'

'It would, wouldn't it?' he said, not a hint of contrition in his voice.

'Am I going to have to put it away so you're no longer tempted?' she said sternly. He looked at her for a moment, an oddly twisted smile on his lips.

'I'm not sure that's going to help.'

Sarah gave an exasperated snort as she swivelled on her heels, picking up the contentious bottle and reaching for the chest's lock. The scuff of Billy's boot on the dirt floor alerted her and she straightened quickly, turning to face him. He was standing only a step away and holding out his hand. She shook her head and his eyes gleamed wickedly. The moment he shifted his weight she ran to the door, laughing. It was only when she got there she remembered he had sealed her escape route with his intricate knots and she turned towards him, pressing herself against the doorframe, the bottle concealed behind her back.

Crowding her against the wall Billy reached for his prize while Sarah giggled and struggled to keep the rum out of his grasp. She felt almost diminutive enveloped in his burly frame and yet, despite his size, she knew no apprehension. She placed one hand on his chest to push him away but his sudden stillness and the rapid thump of his heartbeat under her palm made her pause and look up at him. He was staring down at her hand, splayed over his heart, and as she watched he swallowed hard. A surge of longing made her feel light-headed and reckless.

She reached up slowly to the strong line of his jaw and trailed her fingertips across it, watching as he closed his eyes in response to the caress and feeling his fingers clasp her waist. Billy's hand came up and engulfed hers before he slowly turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to the pale skin on the inside of her wrist. Heat suffused the area under his lips and spread slowly up her arm.

'You're making it very hard to be a gentleman,' he murmured, his breath huffing against her skin as he spoke.

'Gentleman? Not a word I would use to describe you,' she responded flippantly, though her voice was husky. He opened his eyes and lowered them to her face. Sarah's heartrate increased.

'Are you saying that you don't want me to be a gentleman?'

'I never said any such thing. I said you aren't a gentleman.'

The heat of his gaze almost made her look away, but she held it even when something hungry and savage blazed in his eyes.

Sarah refused to be a coward this time.

'You're playing a very dangerous game,' Billy said in a low voice that sent a shiver down her spine.

'I know,' she whispered.

His hands crept up to frame her face, his callused thumb grazing the corner of her mouth but when he leaned towards her he merely rested his forehead against hers and sighed, the faint spicy scent of rum on his breath. Sarah wondered if she had somehow misread his intentions. He pulled away and stared at her, his gaze searching and almost pained. Staring back she wet her lips and watched his eyes flick as they tracked the movement of her tongue. The combined might of her yearning and her fear of his rejection caused her heart to pound against her ribs.

Would he kiss her? Or would he spurn her?

The soft groan Billy emitted sounded as if it were almost torn from him and then he leaned forward and hesitantly brushed his lips to hers, barely more than a whisper of sensation. Sarah's insides coiled tight as she tilted her head up to him, her hand clutching his collar, unconsciously pulling him closer. Suddenly his lips were on hers again but this time Billy did not hesitate. She gave a tiny sigh against the demanding press of his lips and he slid his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss with a low growl. His hand tangled in her curls, clasping the back of her head even as his lean body pressed her firmly against the wall. The bottle of rum dropped from her fingers unnoticed, falling to the dirt floor with a hollow thud and a slosh of liquid.

Sarah had only ever been kissed by two men; a clammy palmed suitor who had assumed that she would be grateful for his attention and had been most affronted when she had indignantly thrust him away; and her husband, who bestowed the occasional absentminded kiss on her, dutiful, polite salutes. There was nothing polite about Billy's kisses. They consumed and provoked, stroking her desire until she was arching her back against him, craving further intimacy. Nothing could have prepared her for the deluge of sensation that overwhelmed her as Billy explored her pliant lips with ever increasing fervour, the scruff of his beard rasping against her chin and making her shiver deliciously. Her legs felt weak and it was only his muscular body and his hand on her waist, hot through the fabric of her chemise, which kept her upright as she burned with restless need and shame.

A tiny rational portion of her mind knew she should stop this, push him away, but it didn't seem to be communicating with her hands, one of which slid to the nape of his neck to rake her nails through the soft hair there, the other slipping into the collar of his shirt to run her fingers over the hot, smooth skin of his shoulder. He seemed to shudder under her touch and pulled back slightly from the kiss.

'God, I've been thinking about doing this for weeks,' Billy said softly against her lips.

_Weeks?_

Sarah's astonishment at his revelation was swept away when he kissed her again, his hand slipping from her waist to her hip to pull her more firmly to him. She willingly parted her lips to the teasing touch of his tongue as he all but devoured her until she suddenly became aware of the hot, hard press of him against her stomach. She couldn't prevent the sudden tension that rippled through her as unpleasant memories taunted her for a moment but she impatiently brushed them aside; this bore absolutely no resemblance to her previous experiences.

Billy must have sensed her momentary flicker of hesitancy because he abruptly jerked away, backing up unsteadily until he was almost on the other side of the hut. The sudden absence of his weight left her breathless and bereft.

'Shit, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that,' he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his face flushed and his eyes anxious.

'I…' she started but she didn't know what to say. Billy scrubbed his hands agitatedly through his hair.

'It's just been a really long time since I've been with a woman,' he said. 'It won't happen again, I promise.'

Sarah felt herself go cold. A woman? Any woman? She swallowed the sudden tightness in her throat, mentally berating herself for her stupidity. Had he only kissed her because she was a woman? She didn't want to kiss him because he was a man, she wanted to kiss him because he was _Billy,_ and she had thought… she had hoped… that he felt some partiality for her. His passionate response had certainly given her that impression but she realised now that the length of his isolation could probably rouse passion for tree had it the right curves. She was not a fool, she could see that he desired her, but only as a thirsty man desires water. If rum were not available he would make do with what he had. She swallowed again and drew a shuddering breath, calming herself.

'It's fine,' she said in a level tone.

'It's not fine, I shouldn't have taken advantage,' Billy said. 'It was wrong.'

Irritation flared irrationally in her. Taken advantage? Had she protested? Was she unable to make her own decisions? And then just as quickly she felt tired, tired and sad.

'Shall we just forget this, call it a momentary lapse in judgement?' Sarah suggested. There was a long silence and when she looked up he was staring intently at her. She looked away quickly. 'As you already said, it won't happen again, so I see no need to discuss it further.' She briskly smoothed her skirts, not meeting his eye.

Billy went to the door, cursing under his breath as his careful knots initially resisted his fumbling efforts to unfasten them, and then opened it a crack.

'I think the storm has passed. I just be out here for a moment,' and with that he was gone.

Sarah watched him go, her stomach knotting uncomfortably, noting that the rain was still clearly falling. Her eyes burned as the door banged shut behind him and she sank to the floor, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in an effort to ease the sting of tears.

The answer to one of those questions she could barely acknowledge struck her with painful clarity.

_She was in love with him._

However much she tried to deny it to herself, call it esteem or regard, it was undisputable that she had fallen foolishly and reluctantly in love with Billy. With his roguish smiles, his wilful stubbornness, the inherent kindness of his nature warring with the brutality of his past, his complexity and very human frailty, all of it had slowly but surely won her heart. It didn't seem possible but she, a well-bred lady of a good family, was in love with a pirate.

She had never been in love. At seventeen years old she had thought her first childish, unrequited inclination towards a totally unsuitable second son to be love, but after her inclination had swiftly and violently run its course she was forced to concede that she had known nothing of his flaws and have been captivated by little more than his handsome face. Her love for Billy was of a totally different nature, although the man in question was infinitely more unsuitable and flawed than the first. It was a slow burning fire, smouldering unnoticed until she was completely ablaze with it.

Mortification swept through her. She was in love with him and it was obvious to her that he did not return her regard. He had called the intimacy they had shared 'wrong'. Was it wrong? It had felt right to her as if something had finally clicked into place, like something missing had been found. She knew she should be ashamed of reneging on her wedding vows and a few weeks ago she would have been. Despite all that Woodes had done she had still felt bound by her promises but the feeling had gradually faded, her burgeoning love for Billy blurring her previously hard held views on the sanctity of her marriage. Now, when she referred to Woodes as her husband it was only as a result of long established habit.

Sarah groaned, burying her face in her hands. Would this change everything? Could she hide her feelings from Billy? She would have to hide them, she chided herself sternly. The humiliation of him knowing the depth of her infatuation would be too much to bear. She would simply act as if nothing were amiss and treat him as she would any agreeable acquaintance. There would be no more wistful stares, no more helpless blushes over his smiles and no more futile daydreams of an impossible future.

It was a sound plan and her execution was flawless, until Fate, capricious as ever, saw fit to intervene in a way that she did not foresee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Billy's trying to do the right thing (but he's not made of stone), and Sarah's got some insecurities to work through. You didn't think I was going to make it that easy, did you?


	17. Chapter 17

The incongruous sound of an axe striking wood drifted on the light breeze, a muted, rhythmic thud echoing through the trees. He had been sauntering confidently through the forest of this supposedly uninhabited island but the unexpected sound made him pause and then resume his advance at a much more cautious pace. It was not long before he stumbled upon the quiet homestead, fire gently smouldering, skirts hanging to dry on the line, a book lying open and abandoned. He stilled at the tree line, eyes darting back and forth searching for any sign of movement even as his hand slid to his pistol. He cocked it and crept out of the trees. There was no one around but the splintering of logs continued behind the rough wooden hut. He eyed the structure and moved towards the door. It was empty, bunches of herbs hung from the rafters and a neatly made bed the only signs of its occupants. His brow furrowed in perplexity, this was not something he had anticipated and could very well ruin his plans. The crew had been left back at the ship with strict instructions not to stray but he didn't trust them to necessarily keep their word. They were hardly dependable, especially if they caught wind of the real reason they had dropped anchor at this particular island. Some unwanted additional people may cause a setback or, at the very least, an unpleasant and violent interlude which he would like to avoid if possible.

Holding his gun in a deceptively loose grip he rounded the side of the hut. The sight that met his eyes was not at all what he had envisaged.

Billy Bones stared back at him, looking remarkably healthy for a man considered dead these last nine months, frozen in the act of swinging his axe.

The larger man was the first to recover, shifting his stance and his grip on the axe to a more threatening posture.

'Jack Rackham,' he said with a terse nod of his head, eyes furtively scanning the surroundings.

'Billy Bones, this is a surprise,' Jack said expansively. 'Rumours of your demise appear to have been greatly exaggerated.'

Billy just shrugged but didn't relax his stance one iota. Jack raised the pistol just enough to make his point but it didn't seem to deter Billy, the calculating glint in his gaze suggesting he was evaluating potential escape strategies.

'We can do this the easy way, by which I mean you drop the axe and we have a civilised little talk, or the hard way,' Jack said inclining his head meaningfully towards the gun.

Billy didn't move.

'The hard way, is it?' Jack sighed. Billy glared at him and his shoulders tightened. Jack tensed and ran a menacing finger lightly across the trigger of the pistol.

A sudden commotion of swearing and shuffling footsteps broke the deadlock, distracting them as they both looked up. Anne came marching down the path, her arm wrapped around the throat of the unfamiliar dark-haired woman whom she was thrusting awkwardly forward, pistol pressed to her prisoner's temple.

'How in the fuck did you get a woman here?' Anne said, halting next to Jack and scowling at Billy. Jack almost smiled and turned a slightly mocking glance on Billy who had gone very pale and was staring at the unknown woman with horror in his eyes.

'Do you want to drop the axe now? Or would you rather let this play out to the detriment of your lovely companion?'

At Jack's words Anne pressed the gun more firmly to the woman's head, and although Jack noted that her face was as pale as Billy's and her eyes wide with fear, she neither flinched nor uttered a sound.

Billy stood for a moment more, indecision writ large across his face, before he slowly tossed the axe towards them, out of reach, where it fell to the dirt with a dull thump. Anne pushed the woman forward as she moved to collect the fallen weapon. When she had picked it up she shoved her hostage in the back with the handle and stepped back. The woman stumbled and caught herself, seemly uncertain for a second as she glanced back and forth between Billy and her captor before hurrying to Billy's side. He caught her up in his arms and pulled her against him. She tucked her face into his shoulder, shuddering slightly, while he glared at Jack and Anne over the top of her head.

Anne dropped the axe at Jack's feet and then pulled a small dagger from her belt and tossed it down too.

'Cunt tried to stab me,' she said, although Jack couldn't tell if her gruff tones concealed anger or admiration.

Jack watched Billy's arms tighten around his woman and a grim smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The large man maintained his frown at the two pirates while dropping a kiss to the top of the woman's head. She lifted her head and whispered something to Billy. Jack couldn't hear what she said but it sounded like an apology, confirmed by the firm shake of Billy's head and his response.

'It's alright, it's not your fault,' he said softly.

When next the woman spoke Jack heard her distinctly although her voice remained low, her accents those of the gently bred, refined and well-modulated.

'She took me unawares, I tried but…well…she had a gun.'

'It's alright,' Billy repeated before he tucked her behind him, as if to shield her from the threat across the clearing, and faced them fully. Jack noted that the woman kept one hand on his waist and Billy almost unconsciously covered it with his own, lacing their fingers together.

She was tall for a woman, although dwarfed by Billy's bulk, wearing trousers that hugged her long legs and rather deliciously curved rear. Jack licked his lips lasciviously and then hastily moved his gaze to her face when he caught Anne's sidelong glare. The woman's chestnut brown hair was neatly plaited down her back and although her nose was a shade too long and her chin a shade too firm for beauty the large brown eyes that gazed at Billy with such faith made it easy for Jack to understand the tall man's obvious infatuation.

'Shall we be seated?' Jack gestured vaguely back to the clearing. 'I feel there's much to discuss.' He picked up the axe and the knife and turned away, safe in the knowledge that Anne would have everything well in hand.

As he strode away he heard her say roughly, 'Don't fucking try anything.'

He took a seat on one of the chests round the fire, stretching out his legs and watching their reluctant progress. Billy came first, holding the dark-haired woman's hand, his eyes darting between his two foes as if unsure which posed the greatest threat to his lady. Evidently he decided Anne, following them with her gun primed and loaded, was of more concern, especially now that Jack had tucked his pistol back in his belt, and made a point of imposing himself between the two women. Anne, bringing up the rear, took up position poised at Jack's shoulder, her gun still out and her gaze sharp.

The couple in front of him remained standing, Billy glowering impotently at them, the woman's face impassive. She was a mystery, how she came to be here and who she was. She held herself like a lady, despite her less than respectable attire, spine ramrod straight and chin high. Accent aside, there was something about her that reminded Jack of Mrs Guthrie, perhaps the haughty way she was looking down her nose at him but whatever it was, he would be willing to bet a large portion of his cache that she was no whore.

'I feel that introductions are in order. Who is your delightful new acquaintance, Billy?'

An uneasy silence followed his question. Jack could almost hear the tenor of Billy's thoughts as he tried and failed to think of a way to evade the inevitable questions.

'This is Sarah, Sarah…Castle,' Billy capitulated finally, and Jack, noting the slight hesitation, eyed them both speculatively. 'Sarah, this is Jack Rackham and Anne Bonny.'

' _Captain_ Jack Rackham,' Jack corrected tersely, standing to sketch a bow. Sarah inclined her head mutely in response, bobbing an extremely abbreviated curtsey, and Jack gave a wave to indicate they should sit. He watched with amusement as Billy scowled at his confident assumption of control but submitted all the same, leaning forward as if to shield his lover from their gaze. Jack sat down again, leaning back with an exaggerated air of relaxation. He turned to Anne and without a word pressed the muzzle of her gun towards the ground. She rolled her eyes but did not argue. Sarah sat, her ankles neatly crossed and her hands clasped in her lap, every inch the demure lady.

'Now, I am fascinated to hear your tale,' Jack said to his sullen audience.

'There's not much to tell really,' Billy responded in a surly tone. 'You know how I came to be here, I didn't drown. Sarah was travelling from England and she was wrecked here.'

'You really are a favourite of Lady Luck, aren't you? You do like to cheat death at every opportunity.'

Billy shrugged, his brows twitching almost wryly. 'Who doesn't?'

'And where were you headed?' Jack addressed his question to Sarah but it was Billy who spoke.

'She was going to Philadelphia to visit a sick relative but a severe storm destroyed her ship.'

Jack smirked, the man was a dreadful liar, every flicker of dishonesty visible on his terribly earnest face. Inwardly Jack marvelled that Billy had ever been a pirate, he seemed so patently unsuited for the life.

'Philadelphia? Interesting. I have a number of acquaintances in Philadelphia, perhaps I know your relative.'

'I highly doubt that we would move in the same social circles,' Sarah said in a cool tone before Billy could interrupt. 'Besides which, my aunt doesn't leave the house, her infirmity prevents her.'

Although Billy's ineptitude had already exposed the lie, there was not a whisper of insincerity when she spoke of her almost certainly fictitious aunt. A mystery indeed.

'And how long have you been here?'

'I'm not absolutely certain, but approximately three months.'

Jack grinned maliciously. 'Ah yes, three months would be enough for Billy here to…how do I put it? Work his magic?'

Sarah reddened, looking away and Billy angrily started to rise but was restrained by a snarl from Anne. Jack eyed them both sardonically in silence, enjoying the effect of his barb.

'We haven't…' Billy snapped, the muscle in his jaw twitching furiously as he reluctantly resumed his seat. 'Whatever the scandalmongers may choose to say, Sarah is a woman of unwavering virtue.'

The small, grateful smile that Sarah bestowed upon Billy before looking away again left Jack silently bemused. Billy was not lying to protect the lady's reputation and yet that look and the delicate pink of Sarah's cheeks told Jack Billy's self-control was almost certainly unnecessary. Three months had clearly been more than enough time for Billy to seduce her, virtue be damned, he just hadn't the sense to take advantage of the fact. All that time and not once able to lose himself between his companion's soft thighs? It was small wonder that Billy was ill-humoured and curt, frustration must be consuming him.

'I must say, I'm impressed with what you've achieved here,' Jack said airily, as if they had misunderstood his earlier comment, glancing around the clearing. 'A very cosy little home you've created. A woman's touch is a balm to the soul.' He watched in amusement as Billy shifted uncomfortably, failing to stop his eyes darting to Sarah. She appeared oblivious to the double meaning of Jack's words but he couldn't be sure and definitely wondered when she rose to her feet rather abruptly. Jack felt Anne tense behind him but he remained relaxed.

'Can I offer you some refreshment?' Sarah said. The look Billy directed at her was incredulous but when she caught his eye she gave an infinitesimal shrug, barely a hitch to her shoulders, and looked back enquiringly at their visitors. 'I'm afraid we only have water and some fruit but it is refreshing nonetheless.'

Jack gave her a lazy smile and nodded his head. Sarah waited until Anne signalled her permission, which she did with a warning growl and a jerk of her head, and then fetched tin cups of water and a carved platter of sliced fruit. Setting the refreshments down in front of them Sarah resumed her seat next to Billy and graciously gestured that they partake. Again Jack was reminded irresistibly of Mrs Guthrie when he joined her for tea, that same ingrained formality of manner evident in Sarah's conduct. He picked up a piece of yellow fruit and chewed it slowly, savouring the sweet taste as he considered the two across from him.

'We would appreciate your help in returning Sarah to Nassau,' Billy said awkwardly in the silence. Sarah glanced up at him, opening her mouth as if to protest but subsided when he shook his head with a slight frown.

Jack smiled condescendingly, 'Appreciation isn't really a currency in which we tend to trade.'

Billy looked defeated. 'I have nothing to offer you,' he admitted.

'Actually, you might,' Jack said, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully at the pair.

'What?' There was a wariness in Billy's tone.

'I'm not sure that you are aware but Flint buried my cache somewhere on this island. Finding out its location from him is not an option, I very much doubt he could be persuaded to tell me and my enquiries would draw notice I would rather avoid.'

Billy gave a derisive snort.

'Quite, I see that you understand. That leaves us in our current predicament. That cache is ours and I will get it back. However, I don't have the time or the inclination for a protracted search for it, besides which, I have other uses for my crew.'

He didn't mention that he didn't want his crew's attention focused on the cache, especially if the search was in vain. A crew disgruntled with their captain was a dangerous thing.

'You want me to what? Find it for you?'

'You're cleverer than you look,' Jack drawled, deliberately baiting him. 'You could find it for me, you have the time. We would return Miss Castle to Nassau where she would be able continue her journey and by the time we return in a few months I'd expect you to have my cache waiting for me.'

'You'll guarantee safe passage for Sarah?'

'Anne will, she has a regrettable soft spot for the ladies.' Jack felt Anne viciously pinch his shoulder but he ignored her.

'And there will be no word of my involvement? No mention of me at all?'

'John Silver has abandoned the fight completely, living in domestic harmony with his Maroon Queen from what I hear, but if it makes you feel better I'm not likely to mention you to Silver given the questions I would then face.'

'I didn't say…' Billy started to say but ground to a halt in the face of Jack's knowing expression.

 _Yes, you wouldn't want Silver to know of your attachment to her, given that he might still be looking for way to revenge himself on you,_ Jack thought to himself, but unusually he refrained from saying anything.

'You will take Sarah back to Nassau, with no mention of me, and in return I will search for the cache.'

Jack noticed that as they spoke the little crease between Sarah's dark brows was deepening. There were definitely aspects of their negotiations that she was not happy about. It seemed that she was putting much greater store on her little island romance than Billy apparently suspected.

'When will you bring Billy back to Nassau?' she said, her eyes narrowed, confirming Jack's suspicions.

'Perhaps after he finds my cache, although I very much doubt he will have a hero's welcome to look forward to. Quite the opposite really, the men don't take kindly to a crew killer,' he said reflectively.

Despair flickered briefly in Billy's eyes before he turned to the woman at his side, seemly trying to ignore Jack and Anne, and took her hand in his.

'Sarah, I can't leave the island. If I go back to Nassau my life will be forfeit. I've killed too many men and betrayed too many people, they'll kill me as soon as I set foot on dry land,' he said gently.

She stared at him for a long moment and then nodded.

'Right, so perhaps we could go elsewhere? I really don't have my heart set on going to Nassau.'

'There is no place for me anymore.'

'We could… you could make one? Somewhere new, somewhere far from here, from Nassau.'

That sounded perilously close to a declaration, Jack mused inwardly. And yet still Billy seemed totally unaware. Unaware, or determined to do what was noble and right? There was something cloying about such sentimental decency. Why didn't the idiot drag her into the hut and fuck her as they both so clearly wanted?

'I have to stay here, I'll find the cache and then I'll stay. You will go to Nassau and be safe.'

'But you won't be coming?'

'No,' Billy said firmly.

'But…surely…' she trailed off in the face of his stubborn expression. Billy cupped her face with one hand and smoothed his thumb across her cheekbone, as if he had forgotten his audience. Jack could feel Anne shifting restlessly behind him. He too felt the intimacy of the moment, it almost felt wrong to watch but he didn't let that stop him.

'John Silver will see me dead the moment he realises that I am alive, or he will harm you to punish me. I used Madi to get to him and he will never forgive me for that. If he finds out you mean anything to me then he will use you against me. You can forget we ever met and then you'll be safe.'

Jack rolled his eyes at their mawkishness. Billy's vague confession of his true feelings might be construed as romantic, if wasted opportunities due to honourable intentions were considered romantic. Jack wasn't of that opinion, he just felt mildly nauseated.

He cleared his throat and they both looked up, startled. Billy dropped his hand self-consciously.

'Affecting though this all is, you clearly need some time to discuss my offer. We will come back tomorrow and you can give us an answer.'

'My answer is yes,' Billy said without hesitation but Sarah put a restraining hand on his forearm and shook her head.

'I'm not sure that your lady shares your opinion. We'll be back in the morning and then we will see.'

'She's not my lady, remember,' Billy said quickly, clearly missing the wounded look that flashed in Sarah's eyes.

Jack exchanged a glance over his shoulder with Anne but didn't comment.

'However you wish to describe her,' he said dismissively. He stood and tipped his hat at them both. 'Until tomorrow,' he said taking his leave. Anne followed him without a word leaving Billy and Sarah staring after them, only the chirps of the surrounding bird life to break the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't resist introducing a bit of Jack and Anne to the story, they were definitely two of my favourite characters. I wrote the bones of this chapter quite early on and for some reason I wrote it from Jack's perspective. I wasn't sure if I should change it having written sixteen chapters all from Sarah's perspective, I thought it might be a bit jarring to have a sudden alternative point of view, however I decided that I quite liked having Jack's viewpoint on our lovers so I left it as is.


	18. Chapter 18

The somewhat stunned silence that followed Jack and Anne's departure lasted long after they were lost from sight amongst the greenery. Sarah slowly became aware of the warmth of Billy's skin beneath her palm and the downy, pale hairs on his arm tickling her fingertips. She didn't move, reluctant to do anything to ruin this odd closeness that had sprung up between them. Since their kiss almost a week ago he had barely spoken to her, had barely _looked_ at her and although to even the keenest observer all would appear as normal, the comradery was gone; the gentle teasing and familiarity vanished in the blink of an eye. She had tried not to take it to heart but it hurt her to witness how easily he was able to dismiss what had occurred. Yet the appearance of his pirate brethren had apparently erased all the coolness between them and she had thought nothing of throwing herself into his arms, the warmth and strength of his embrace soothing the terror that Anne's rough treatment had inspired. His whole demeanour had undergone a change in the face of the threat and when she had gripped his waist, needing a physical connection to bolster her courage, to her surprise and gratification he had threaded his fingers with hers and held her tightly.

Billy cleared his throat and stood up suddenly, Sarah's hand sliding limply into her lap. She regarded him closely. He was frowning, his hands fisting at his sides but he did not look at her. Anger flared inside her, hot and sudden, an easier emotion for her to deal with than the deeper ache in her chest.

'Look at me,' she said sharply. He did look at her but it was with a slow turn of his head that conveyed his reluctance. 'You cannot seriously be planning to accept their offer?'

She knew the answer but she needed to hear him say it, to make it real. The look in his eyes spoke of defeat and weariness, as if he was struggling to summon the energy to argue with her and then he dropped his head.

'Of course I am, how else are we going to get you home?'

Sarah's heart twisted at his casual acceptance.

'I don't know but I can't just leave you here and be on my merry way.'

His eyes softened when he looked back at her.

'Yes, you can,' he said seriously. 'It's the only way.'

'It's not the only way,' she responded stubbornly. 'We could take the ship from them, or you could stow away, or…something?'

'Take the ship?' She could tell he was supressing a bleak smile. 'You and me? Against thirty or more pirates?'

'Perhaps that might be beyond even your capabilities,' she admitted slowly.

'And if they find me stowed away they'll kill me, and then you, if the bargain is not met. I can't risk that.'

'But you think it is safe for me to travel with them? Do you not think it possible they will cut my throat and dump me over the side once we are out to sea?'

Billy shook his head.

'Despite his chosen profession Jack would much rather rely on his wits than his fists. I don't fully trust him but I do know that he won't renege on his side of the bargain. And besides, Anne will be there to protect you.'

'How very reassuring,' Sarah said, raising a sardonic brow.

'I know you haven't had the greatest introduction but trust me when I say, she will keep you safe from the men.'

Sarah didn't really doubt it, Anne was much more intimidating than Jack.

'And you can go to Nassau and forget all about me. Get on with your life,' Billy continued.

'Is that what you think I want?' she snapped.

'It's best for everyone. This…whatever it is we have here can't last, it never could. What did you think would happen, Sarah? I'm a pirate and a hunted man, there is no happy ending for me.'

She flinched a bit at his harsh tone and the bitterness underlying his words. It was her own naiveté that was to blame for her anger and confusion. If she was honest with herself, until Jack had casually confirmed Billy's own statements, she had not really believed that the long memories and thirst for revenge found amongst the Nassau pirates would make Billy's return impossible. His talk of the island and its inhabitants had encouraged her to think that perhaps her transgressions would be overlooked there, that she could fashion some semblance of a life and in all her daydreams that life had included Billy in some way, although in what way she had not examined too closely. Jack's offhand destruction of her fantasies and Billy's calm acceptance of their inevitable separation broke her heart and made her cling to those visions of the future with a stubbornness that she knew was both foolish and futile.

That thought didn't keep her from trying once again.

'You could go somewhere else…' she repeated herself mulishly, despite knowing what his response would be.

'There is nowhere else. No place for me,' he said, exactly as she had expected. Sarah took a deep breath. She had no solution for him, she just knew that whatever happened her happiness depended on her being at his side. And yet, as she stared at man she loved she could almost see the crushing weight of his past, heavy upon him. He saw nothing for himself in the future, allowing himself only the faint hope of an isolated life free from the threat of violence, and perhaps he was right. Her heart twisted again and she breathed out deeply, trying to control herself. She wanted to kiss away the frown that marred his brow, to take those clenched fists in hers and soothe away his frustration and exasperation, except she knew that she was the cause of it all.

Would he be glad to see her gone, rid of the unnecessary burden of caring for her? Did he see the appearance of Jack and Anne as a cause for celebration? Her first instinct was to plead with him but if he saw her only as an irksome nuisance than he would prefer to be rid of it would only bring her heartache and humiliation to argue the point.

'And you want me gone?' she said, careful to keep any trace of emotion out of her voice.

'Of course I want you gone!' he said exasperatedly. 'I want you safe with your own people and far away from me and mine.'

_At least that was clear._

She bowed her head in mute acceptance, all opposition flooding out of her. He was right, somehow she should have known it wouldn't last, couldn't last. She would return to her old life, shamed and penitent, and hope that her next husband, if one could even be found, would treat her with a tiny degree of the consideration that Billy had afforded her. It was probably a vain hope, but she would have her memories to console her. She sighed and when she looked up at him he was watching her, his expression, for once, unfathomable.

'So in the morning…?' she said quietly.

'We accept their offer and you go with them to Nassau.'

She nodded and rose to her feet, needing to be away from him before the dam that kept her emotions in check shattered. As she walked away the sound of his voice stopped her.

'Sarah,' he said softly and then halted uncertainly. 'Don't stray too far, I…I can't protect you from Jack's men.' It was a reasonable request but Sarah didn't think that was what he had been meaning to say. She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak without blurting out something foolish that would only make this more difficult than it already was.

She went to the stream, ostensibly to wash the used cups but mainly to have some time to think.

Billy's insistence that there was no place for him now troubled her. She wondered if the same was true for her. Try as she might she could not imagine slipping comfortably back into her dull existence, content to frequent the endless tedium of pointless social engagements with people she actively disliked. It seemed unlikely that she would be allowed to continue as she was in any case, tarnished by her association with pirates, her dishonour widely known. Perhaps her father would send her to the country in disgrace.

Sarah cocked her head reflectively.

The country would not be so terrible, it would dreary and she would be lonely but she could read and embroider and have her brothers to visit. Maybe she could visit Mary, if Mary's husband would allow it. He might not, the taint of the scandal could be enough for him to command Mary to cut all contact.

Loneliness seemed to be the key element in her future, far removed from anyone who would care for her, ostracised from her social circle, cut off from the few she could call friends and separated from Billy. Nothing in common with anyone, the subject of malicious gossip and judged by all those she had once called peers. It was a dismal picture she painted for herself and yet it was a realistic one. And if she were honest with herself, without Billy every potential outcome was as dispiriting as the next.

A new husband might be found for her, although the possibility seemed slight given that after so many years of marriage to Woodes and no child to show for it all would know she was barren. Sarah knew that marriage was the best outcome she could hope for but she could only imagine the prospect with dread. Another husband compelled to marry her for financial motives was unlikely to come to care for her, or she for them. She had dreamed that silly daydream before and did not like to deceive herself again.

She looked down at the tin cup that hung from her fingertips and dipped it into the flowing water of the stream. She lost herself in the play of ripples across the back of her hand as a wicked thought occurred to her, one that a better woman than she would have immediately dismissed. A better woman than she would never have even thought it in the first place.

_Did she dare?_

It was a sin to even consider it but once rooted in her thoughts she could not rid herself of the idea. Billy's kisses had attested to the possibility that there could be more to what occurred between a man and a woman than the unpleasant and humiliating act that was her experience of marital relations. It was a sin, and yet she loved him, trusted him. Jack's comments had confirmed what she already knew, people would make assumptions whatever she told them to the contrary and there was no possibility of a child to substantiate any allegations. It was a sin, and yet so many other worse sins were committed every day by better people than herself.

She shook herself and scrubbed vigorously at the rim of the cup with a rag.

_Would Billy even wish to bed her?_

Without conceit she allowed herself to acknowledge that he probably would, if not for her own sake then to slake the lust that his enforced abstinence had caused. Woodes had taught her that affection or lack thereof had no bearing on a man's carnal urges. Billy did not love her but she knew that he would be kind. Would that be enough? It would certainly be far more than she was accustomed and when she left tomorrow she would be safe in the knowledge that only she and Billy would ever know the truth.

And that she would never see Billy again.

Sarah felt hot tears roll down her cheeks and she splashed some water from the stream on her face, silently cursing her sentimentality. The shock of the cool water helped to restore some of her composure, stemming the flow of tears, although her throat still felt tight. Unsure what she would do next, but determinedly quashing her wildly fluctuating emotions, she stood, shaking water droplets from the cups and making her way back to their camp.

Billy sat, shoulders hunched, snapping a twig into short lengths and tossing them into the fire, his eyes distant. The metallic clang as Sarah set the mugs down by the bucket of drinking water made him look up. She felt her throat close again, the dejected look in his eyes as his long fingers worried the remnants of the stick a perfect mirror to her own sorrow. Perhaps he would not be as pleased as she had envisaged at her departure. Or was it that he would feel only the want of companionship? Whatever the reason, she felt like a traitor for agreeing to leave him despite it being at his insistence.

His blue eyed gaze quickly turned quizzical when she stared back in total silence. She cleared her throat experimentally, trying to find the words to express herself and yet still her voice came out as a croak.

'I…um…' Words failed her. She smoothed her damp palms against her hips awkwardly. 'I should fetch my basket, I rather forgot about it when Anne accosted me.' In truth she had thrown the whole thing, fruit and all, ineffectually at Anne's head, before remembering her knife and brandishing it at the intruder. It hadn't taken much for Anne to disarm her but she had at least tried to fight back.

Billy nodded before looking away and Sarah marched down to the pool where the basket lay abandoned by the waterside, the fruit and bunches of herbs scattered on the ground. She quickly gathered it all up, checking for blemishes and pausing every so often to scan her surroundings. The only sounds she heard were bird calls but the constant rustling of the forest put her on edge and she was eager to return to Billy's protective sphere. He had moved when she arrived back, the axe, the cutlass and a collection of knives laid out before him and the whetstone in his hand. She noticed the pistol also lay at his side, ready to be cleaned and loaded she could only presume. The scrape and shriek of the stone on metal was her accompaniment as she trussed up the herbs for drying. She watched Billy furtively as she worked, following the movement of his large hands as he stroked each of the blades in turn, smoothing away imperfections, his concentration intense and brooding.

The midday sun arced lower in the sky as Sarah fidgeted aimlessly, ostensibly tidying and beginning to prepare their dinner but breaking off all too often, lost in her thoughts. For the most part Billy was silent and she couldn't find a way to break into his abstraction, hers being similarly consuming. Although she did not speak she found that she couldn't tear her eyes away from him, tracking every move he made, her eyes greedily devouring every detail of him to store away for a time when she would have nothing but her memories. If he was aware of her ardent gaze he gave no indication but occasionally he would look up and catch her staring and she would self-consciously busy herself in whatever task came to hand, trying to ignore the sinful thoughts that she couldn't quite quell.

_Would God forgive such weakness?_

'I should pack my belongings,' she announced suddenly into the silence, more to herself than Billy, who simply looked up, grunted a half-hearted acknowledgment and returned to his work.

She pulled her clothes haphazardly from the washing line, picked up one of her petticoats from the pile and began folding it carefully, focussing on smoothing out all the creases despite the obvious wear and frayed hem that meant she would probably burn it when she returned to civilisation. Billy got up but she kept her eyes averted, concentrating intently on her folding. He was back in only a moment but she pretended to be oblivious of his patient presence at her shoulder, marshalling her errant wits enough to face him. Finally she took a deep breath, feigned sudden awareness and stood. He was holding a leather bound book in his hand.

'I thought you could take this with you,' he said, holding the slim volume out to her. It was the copy of A Midsummer Night's Dream. 'Maybe think of me kindly occasionally.'

She reached out, holding his gaze, and grasped the book, her fingers brushing against his.

'Think of you kindly?'

'Just…sometimes.'

His fingers twitched as if he were about to pull away and she caught him before he could, gathering all her courage and smothering her doubts.

'You once said that women came to your bed willingly or not at all,' she blurted out, feeling heat flood her cheeks at her own brazenness. Billy nodded warily, a gleam of a question in his eyes at her sudden change of subject. 'So, if I told you I was willing would you lie with me?'

Billy's astonishment was palpable and powerful. He pulled his hand from hers and took a step backwards, fixing her with a hard stare.

'Are you willing?' he said, incredulity lacing his tone.

'Yes,' Sarah said, quietly but firmly.

'But, why?'

Sarah blinked in surprise. She had expected token resistance, he was a good man after all, but not that he would question her motives.

_Because I love you._

'Because this may be my only chance to experience the physical act of…' she gestured vaguely, 'as you assured me it could be. With someone I…trust. A man of my choosing.'

He looked at her through his lashes, almost shyly.

'And you think that man is me?'

'There aren't any other more appealing options.' She had meant it to be a jest but her embarrassment made her delivery flat and he frowned. 'I'm sorry, that didn't sound as I meant it,' she said quickly, attempted a smile that she was sure was more of a grimace.

The frown on his face didn't ease and she found herself fumbling for the right words.

'I thought you might like…it…like…me and I wanted it to be you.'

'Me?' he said slowly, disbelievingly. Sarah gave a vigorous nod and then stopped just as quickly.

'I know you would be kind,' she said. 'If I am to go home tomorrow, well…I highly doubt that any man that my father can induce to offer for such a sullied reputation as mine will be a paragon of husbandly virtues.'

The muscle in his jaw twitched as she spoke.

'I wanted to choose for myself, this one time.'

'We can't,' Billy said, although he said it so uncertainly that it was almost a question.

'No-one would know but us,' Sarah said quickly, slightly incredulous that she found herself on the wrong side of the moral divide. 'There is no possibility of a babe,' she added, feeling a pang in her heart at the image of a tiny baby with his father's soulful, blue eyed gaze.

'You're married,' he stated flatly.

'I think we both know that isn't true, it just took me some time to come to terms with it. As you quite rightly pointed out, my first clue should have been when my so called husband married someone else,' she said evenly.

'Sarah,' he sighed, shaking his head as if she were an irrational child. 'You can't mean this. Look at me!' He gestured unsteadily down at himself. 'And then look at you. Think about what you're saying, you can't give yourself to someone as unworthy as me.'

'Unworthy?' she scoffed.

'I'm not good enough for you, you're a lady and I'm a…'

'A title doesn't make you worthy,' she said, cutting him off. 'Woodes was a gentleman, was 'worthy', and he was cold and indifferent and made me miserable for most of our marriage. And then he left me for another woman. You think I want 'worthy'?'

'I think you deserve better than me.'

'Can I be the judge of what I deserve? If you do not wish it, just say. I'm a woman grown and I'm perfectly capable of enduring rejection,' she said, her tone somewhat acerbic.

'It's not that.' He scrubbed his hands through his hair before they came to rest on the back of his neck. When he dropped his head again he fixed his eyes on her and she almost took a step back from the intense heat in his gaze. It made her stomach flutter. 'I want to… God, I want to fuck you. It's not like I haven't thought about it, but I can't. It would just be another crime to add to a very long list.'

The obscenity, used in such a context didn't shock Sarah, if anything it stirred something in her. Here was not the bloodless propriety of her marriage, the indifference that followed the pain and humiliation. Billy was nothing if not honest, he would not lie to her with stilted, polite but ultimately meaningless words. The supressed passion in his tone, an emotion she was only just on the verge of understanding, told her all she needed to know. He _wanted_ her and the sense of power that knowledge gave her was intoxicating.

'You're comparing this to your other crimes?' She let out a short, mirthless laugh. 'I'm asking you, you're not taking against my will.'

'You don't know what you're asking for,' he said quietly.

'I know exactly what I am asking for. Don't think me stupid, or rash,' she said and watched as he shook his head in hasty denial. 'I have thought this through and made my decision. If you don't want this, don't want me, then say and I will cease to bother you, but don't presume to question my choice.'

'I don't think you stupid, or rash,' he said softly. 'I think you're brave and clever, and too good for the likes of me.' He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to protest and she shut it again. 'But I want you…if you're willing?'

Sarah took a deep breath, determined not to shy away from this moment.

'Did I not already say so?'


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn is now officially a conflagration, you have been warned.

Billy stared mutely at her for such a long time that Sarah began to feel dreadfully exposed. She wondered briefly if he saw something deficient in her and was reconsidering her proposition, but there was a dark hunger in his eyes that both reassured and thrilled her.

Billy suddenly roused himself with a visible shake, took a shuddering breath and moved towards her. Heart hammering against her ribs, Sarah held up a hand and he stopped instantly, as if he had been half expecting her to take back her words.

'You said it could be pleasurable for a woman too, that it could be something…more than I have known?'

'Yes.' Billy looked almost amused.

'I can enjoy it?' she persisted.

'I'm certain of it,' he said confidently. Sarah let out a breath she hadn't realised she had been holding and dropped her hand. Billy approached cautiously, looking at her as if she might bolt, which she had to concede was a possibility. He put his hands to her face and gazed fiercely at her.

'Are you sure about this?'

'Yes,' she said, 'and no.'

Billy lowered his hands to her shoulders.

'You don't believe me, do you?'

'It's not that I don't believe you, it's just I don't know if I can take the disappointment if you're mistaken.'

'I'm not mistaken,' he growled, catching her up and kissing her almost roughly.

The moment his lips met hers Sarah gave a small sigh of submission and melted into his ardent embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck and a feeling of rightness overwhelming her. Billy eased the ferocity of his kiss, flicking his tongue against hers and sucking gently on her bottom lip, before picking her up and carrying her, unprotesting, into the hut.

Once inside the dwelling he set her down on her feet and stood facing her with an air of anticipation, his hands loose at his sides. Sarah realised he was waiting for her to take the initiative, to convince him that she had no reservations about their present course. Mustering all her courage she took a step towards him and then another. She reached out and with trembling hands tugged his shirt from where it was tucked into his frayed trousers, her hands skimming his chest as she pushed the fabric up. Billy helpfully ducked his head and lifted his arms but she still had to balance on the very tips of her toes to ease the shirt off over his head. She dropped it carelessly onto the floor and smoothed her palm across his stomach, fascinated by the play of muscles under his skin which tensed at her touch. An unbidden memory rose of another time when the muscles on his stomach had flexed and twitched under her hands but she swiftly drove that thought away. He was whole and well and, for the moment, hers.

Billy let out a long breath which turned to a groan when she leaned against him to press a kiss to his throat. His hands went to her braid and he tugged off the strip of leather securing it so that it unravelled. Tangling his hands in her hair he kissed her deeply, the intensity of his need clear in every press of his lips. Feeling unaccountably bold Sarah fumbled with the fastenings of her trousers, loosened them and pushed them down her hips until they fell with a soft rustle to the floor and she could kick them away. Billy stopped kissing her and pulled back a fraction. Sarah's shirt only covered her to mid-thigh and she felt the full weight of his gaze. Her fingers fell to the top button, but Billy stopped her with a hand on hers.

'Can I do it?' he asked hoarsely.

Sarah nodded and he took the fabric from her, flicking each button free as he worked his way down. She held her breath as he parted the garment down the middle and eased it off, smoothing his hands down her arms and dropping the shirt to the ground, all without taking his eyes off her. He reached out a hand and brushed the back of his knuckles caressingly along line of her jaw, down her neck and between her breasts before tracing the curve of her waist. Sarah followed every movement, fighting the urge to cover herself as her courage faltered, but then she looked back up at his face. In his eyes she saw an intoxicating blend of desire and reverence as his gaze swept over her body. Billy's hands clasped her waist possessively and then he sank to his knees, like a man at prayer, pressing soft lips to the curve of her stomach. Placing a hand under his chin so she could tilt his head up Sarah captured his mouth with her own, teasing him with her tongue in a slightly clumsy imitation of the way he had kissed her.

Billy rose slowly to his feet without breaking the kiss and began to carefully manoeuvre Sarah backwards with the gentle pressure of his hands on her waist until she felt the soft, worn wool of the blankets on the bed on the back of her legs. She sat down and shuffled back to accommodate him as he followed her onto the bed, covering her body with his own. The onslaught of his heated kisses continued as he slowly traced his fingers down her sides, over her hips and the outside of her thighs, fuelling her desire with the hot press of his body, the caress of his hands on her bare skin and the masculine, smoky scent of him. The heat between her legs intensified and she ached for something that she couldn't name.

It had never been like this with Woodes. Had it been perhaps she would not have found her marital duty such a chore. She closed her eyes for a moment, forcing away the unwelcome thought of her ex-husband as she pressed herself to Billy, one hand twining in his hair, the other sliding down his stomach to the waistband of his trousers. He caught her exploratory hand in his and pulled it away, pinning it gently above her head.

'There's time for that later, you first.'

She couldn't comprehend what he meant by that but the caress of his warm, rough hand across her breast caused her breath to hitch in her throat and stopped her from asking. When he followed the path of his hand with the brush of his lips she outright gasped and her ability to form the words fled, along with all her good sense. She knew that she shouldn't want this, shouldn't want the tender feel of his hands on every part of her or the soft touch of his lips, but she did.

She wanted him for as long as he cared to have her.

That was the only clear thought she had as he continued his sinful ministrations, the rest was lost in a maelstrom of heat, and need, and aching desperation for something she little understood but that he seemed to anticipate. She shivered with desire under his touch and in response to his gentle urging relaxed her thighs. When he touched her lightly where she had been, to her shame, craving to feel him, she gave a ragged moan against his lips and felt his answering smile. Every noise she made, every breathy sigh and gasp in response to his sensuous caresses seemed to please him. She found herself chasing his touch, striving unthinkingly for that elusive _more_ that he had promised her, gripping his shoulders tightly as her breathing quickened. Her focus shifted to only that one place where his fingers pleasured her, her thighs shaking and her back arching as she tried to increase the pressure.

'Please, Billy,' she begged, unsure what she was asking for.

'Let go for me,' he breathed against her ear, even as he pressed a little more insistently and the tight coil of need inside her shattered without warning. She shuddered beneath him as pleasure engulfed her senses and whispered his name, wonder colouring her tone. Billy kissed her feverishly, swallowing her breathless moans as if he desired to taste every moment of her ecstasy.

Abruptly all the tension left her body and Sarah fell back gasping, uncertain what had just happened but content to bask in the glorious lassitude the crept over her, leaving her languid and satiated. Feeling Billy's finger brush her cheek she opened her eyes, unable to repress her satisfied smile.

'You look beautiful,' he said softly. Sarah turned away, shaking her head so the loose strands of her hair hid her face from his gaze. He cupped her face in his large hand, coaxing her to look at him. His eyes were serious as he smoothed back the heavy fall of her hair. 'You are beautiful.' Suddenly he grinned roguishly. 'And you look particularly lovely when you're sighing my name.'

Sarah blushed. Even though she knew he was just being kind, for a brief moment under his gaze she felt beautiful, she felt magnificent. She beamed at him and then lay her head against his shoulder, revelling for a short while in the sense that she belonged to him.

'Was that…? Was that supposed...? Was that what you meant by _more?'_ she said eventually as her breathing settled.

Billy chuckled.

'In part,' he said. 'That's not all that…there is.'

Sarah thought she knew to what he was alluding. She was certain she knew what came next at any rate. Her stomach churned with anxiety but she wanted to do this for him so despite her apprehension she pushed herself up onto her elbows and twisted over onto her front.

Billy caught her with a gentle hand to her hip.

'Where are you going?'

Glancing back over her shoulder she said uncertainly, 'I thought we…'

Billy's jaw tightened momentarily and Sarah saw rage flash in his eyes.

'That fucking bastard,' he muttered. He rested his chin on her shoulder, the rough stubble of his short beard prickling her skin. 'I want to see you,' he murmured, his voice muffled as he mouthed delicately at the nape of her neck and then began to trail kisses down the curve of her spine. Sarah shivered and momentarily forgot her nerves, intent only on the scorching path of his lips. Billy's hands crept up her sides and he rolled her carefully back over, leaning forward to capture her lips in a searing kiss before he said again, 'I want to see you.'

There was a rustle of fabric as he shifted to divest himself of his trousers. Involuntarily Sarah looked down and quickly looked away. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, absurd really when she considered everything she had already done and all that would follow. It didn't take long for curiosity to drag her gaze back to him and she let out a slow breath. The look on Billy's face was watchful as he carefully pressed her back onto the blankets, nudging her legs apart with his knee until his hips were cradled between her thighs. Sarah's anxiety ratcheted up a notch and she bit her lip. Billy's expression turned troubled.

'Sarah, you don't have to do this. We can stop if you wish it.'

Sarah's expression lightened and she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled out of her as she took in the tension across his shoulders and the almost pleading light in his eyes, trying to hide itself behind a veneer of self-sacrifice.

'You absolutely do not mean that,' she said, forgetting her fears and stroking her fingers fondly down his jaw.

'I do,' he said seriously and then continued candidly, 'but I'd rather not.'

Sarah laughed again and leaned in to press her lips to his. Billy hummed with pleasure and then pulled away to gaze keenly at her.

'Does that mean…?'

'Don't stop,' she whispered in his ear.

His sigh of relief was a balm to her fears, his palpable need calming the clamour of her thoughts. He pressed himself in close, she could feel the hot, hard length of him rubbing against her and it felt…it felt good. She shifted her hips provocatively and he complied with her silent invitation.

'Relax,' he breathed as he began to ease inside her. Sarah couldn't help the frown that formed at his quiet word; it was easier said than done. There was no pain, the expected sting was absent, but it felt odd and her expectation of pain prevented her from doing as he asked. Billy nuzzled her neck and began to suck gently on a sensitive spot she didn't know existed just behind her ear, distracting her even as he slowly pushed himself forward. When he caught her earlobe between his teeth she involuntarily rolled her hips against him and he gave a low groan of satisfaction.

'God, you feel so good,' he said, his voice hoarse and muffled against her neck. Sarah noted the tension in his frame, the rigidity in muscles of his biceps, how the tendons in his neck protruded and realised he was holding himself still to give her time to adjust to his intrusion. She felt a swell of love overwhelm her and cautiously rolled her hips for a second time, catching Billy's breathy expulsion of, 'Fuck!'

It made her feel powerful and she did it again.

'Jesus Christ!' he moaned. 'I don't think I can last if you keep doing that.'

'I suppose we could lie here motionless until morning,' she said mischievously. He lifted his head and grinned at her.

'Minx!' he said with a surge that made her gasp and arch her back. He chuckled softly and began to move slowly, his eyes intent on hers, gauging her reaction. Sarah gave him a small smile, relishing in the intimacy of the moment. It felt strange and wonderful, and nothing like she had expected. Billy's eyelids drooped as he increased his pace with a soft groan, his hard fought control slipping.

'Oh fuck, Sarah, you feel so…oh God, so good for me,' he panted out, claiming her mouth with wild passion, his grip on her thigh tightening and his other hand entangling in her hair. She met each of his thrusts with a roll of her hips, clasping a leg around his waist to pull him even closer as small grunts of pleasure escaped through his lips and his breath came out in desperate gasps.

'Sarah, fuck, Sarah, I can't… I can't!'

Billy's rhythm faltered and then he shuddered and went still, burying his face in the curve of her neck.

There was a long silence broken only by the harsh huffing of Billy trying to catch his breath. Sarah held him close, savouring the sensation of his solid weight pinning her to the bed, their limbs entwined. She stroked her hands lovingly down the back of his neck, along his shoulders and down his ribs, feeling the rise and fall of each breath under her fingertips, and struggling to suppress her very slight disappointment that it was over so soon.

'Fuck! I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' Billy suddenly mumbled, raising his head with a sheepish look in his eyes. Sarah caught his face between her hands, perplexed by his obvious embarrassment.

'Why are you sorry?'

He closed his eyes and tried to turn his head away but she didn't let him.

'I was like a God-damned green boy,' he muttered. 'It's been such a long time and you felt so good. I should have gone for longer, made sure you enjoyed it.'

'I did enjoy it,' Sarah hastened to reassure him. 'It was very pleasant.'

He caught her up in his arms, hiding his face against her collar bone and groaning discontentedly.

'Very pleasant?' he said with a slightly sour laugh. 'A cup of tea is pleasant. My pride had rather hoped for something more than 'very pleasant'.'

She gaped down at him, at a loss as to how to articulate her feelings. It had been many times more enjoyable than Woodes' callous disregard would have had her believe possible. There had been no discomfort and parts of it had been pure rapture, an unmixed blessing of intimacy and bliss that she knew she would never have experienced were it not for Billy. She did not know how to tell him all of this so instead she kissed him, licking at the seam of his lips demandingly until he opened for her and surging into his mouth. There was no grace in her deed, her teeth clashed with his in her haste, but he didn't seem to mind, returning the kiss with equal fervour. She pulled away with a breathless moan as he ground himself against her.

'It was very much better than pleasant,' she said, pushing back at the insistent press of him. Following his lead she sank her teeth delicately into the soft skin of his throat, the warm salt taste of him on her tongue, delighting in the shudder of pleasure that vibrated through him.

'Next time…' he said with a delicious hint of promise in his tone, kissing along her jaw line.

'Next time?' Sarah said, a little mystified. Woodes was a man of distinct routines and visited her bed chamber like clockwork once a month.

'Just give me some time to recover,' Billy whispered, much to her surprise. He frowned at her expression and said diffidently, 'That is, if you wanted to?'

Sarah nodded quickly, ignoring the protests of her better self, and it was worth it when Billy gave her a small smile. He brushed a quick kiss across her lips and then, to her dismay, pulled away from her and got up. She felt oddly hollow without the warm weight of him and sat up quickly, tucking her knees up by her chin and pulling a blanket over her to shield her modesty, ridiculous though it seemed at this stage in proceedings. Billy disappeared out the door, returning in moments with a damp cloth in his hand. She couldn't help but stare as he advanced upon her, the sight of the defined planes of his naked body causing a pleasurable tightening in her belly that she now recognised as desire. Following his movements she unconsciously licked her lips as he crossed the room and sat down next to her. He tugged gently at the blanket and she allowed him to pull it away.

'I thought you might want me to clean you up?' he said, his expression bashful and the tips of his ears a little pink.

Sarah stared uncomprehendingly at him for a time, then blinked and felt her eyes fill with tears. She remembered all too well the crushing isolation she felt the night of her wedding as she had cleansed away the remnants of her absent husband's seed. Watching the blood defiling the water in the washstand, the face staring back at her from the mirror tear-stained and pale in the flickering candlelight.

All those times she had concealed her suffering from Woodes behind the mask of duty and now Billy's gentle request to tend to her was proving to be her undoing.

'Did I hurt you?' he said, misconstruing the reason for her stricken look. Sarah shook her head but his expression remained downcast and sceptical.

She took a moment to gain enough mastery over her voice.

'No, you didn't hurt me,' she said firmly.

He fiddled with the cloth, staring at his fidgeting hands.

'Regrets then?'

Sarah's throat tightened again; he looked so vulnerable. She tipped his head to face her and kissed him hard. He responded immediately but pulled away before she could become lost in his embrace.

'What was that for?' Billy asked, his expression slightly dazed.

'I do not regret what I did, no matter the consequences and I did not want you to think that I did.'

His smile was hesitant but luminous and she couldn't help but respond to it. Kissing her softly he began smoothing the cloth up her thigh but between the gentle press of his lips and the warm touch of his hands his efforts in washing her were entirely wasted.

Later when Billy took her for the last time, swathed in the golden glow of the lamplight, before fatigue claimed them both, it was with a tenderness that almost broke Sarah's heart and as she shuddered and breathed his name like a prayer he was right there with her. Inside her, enveloping her in his strong arms, a part of her. In that moment of total communion each of his kisses seemed to speak eloquently of longing and passion and she could almost believe that he loved her as she loved him, an exquisite fantasy that made her ache with a peculiar, painful kind of joy.

She lay in the aftermath, stroking the hollow of Billy's collar bone, her head cushioned on his shoulder while he slept soundly beside her. She was scared to go to sleep. Morning would bring the return of Jack and Anne and the end to everything, but despite her best intentions her eyes eventually fluttered closed and she didn't wake until the sun rose the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a little Easter egg in there for you, it's almost a direct quote and it seemed too perfect not to use it.


	20. Chapter 20

'Be careful in Nassau, don't trust anyone,' Billy said gruffly.

Behind her Sarah heard Anne snort inelegantly but her eyes remained fastened on Billy's beloved face, trying desperately to fix him in her mind in the last moments of her happiness. He stood close to her, although not as close as she would have wished, Anne's presence putting up an invisible barrier of restraint between them. Sarah couldn't read all of the myriad emotions that flitted across his face as he spoke. There was a bleakness in his expression but at the same time a wistfulness that she could only assume was borne of his memories of Nassau. It made her feel wretched but there was no time left to effect a different ending to their story. Time was a river that she was trying desperately to hold back with her hands but the more she tried to cling to those last precious moments the quicker they slipped from her grasp like rivulets of water running through her fingers. It seemed to her that the day had passed in the blink of an eye and now she stood in the rapidly fading light of dusk at the moment of parting and she wasn't ready; she would never be ready for this final farewell.

It seemed impossible to her that it was only that morning that she had awakened enveloped in Billy's embrace, his lips pressed to the curve of her neck and his breathing easy and even in sleep.

_She looks up to find him staring at her as she nibbles daintily on her breakfast and when he catches her eye he smiles sleepily but there is a hint of melancholy in his gaze that mirrors her own. The words flutter on the tip of her tongue, but she holds them back. Despite everything she has done, all that she has given of herself she is unwilling to bare this last part of her soul to him, to lay herself open to further heartache at what she is sure would be a rejection of her love. A kind one, but a rejection nonetheless. The words remain however, waiting for an unguarded moment to fall from her lips._

She had dressed herself with particular care that morning while they awaited the inevitable appearance of Jack and Anne. Her hair was neatly confined to the nape of her neck, she had demurely arranged a fichu on her shoulders and her petticoats were meticulously brushed. She was determined that the two pirates have no suspicion of this precious intimacy between her and Billy so they could not tarnish it with their taunting looks and vulgar comments. By the time they emerged from the dense undergrowth she had looked every inch the lady, prim and virtuous.

She didn't fool Jack for a second.

_He strolls casually into the clearing long after first light, looking for all the world as if he owns the place, Anne close on his heels. He takes one long look at Sarah and guffaws loudly, raising his eyebrows knowingly. She swears she hears him mutter, 'Unwavering virtue, eh?', but she can't be sure, and anyway he is already laughing again. Refusing to dignify his teasing she stares him down, chin tilted defiantly. By the time Jack regains his composure Billy is stood at her side eying him with an irritable frown. Jack grins mischievously at the taller man._

_'I would have thought you'd be in a better mood this morning,' he says with a leer._

_Sarah shoots Billy a warning glance when he opens his mouth, knowing that he will just confirm Jack's suspicions with his protestations. Catching her eye Billy subsides with a roll of his eyes and a huff of annoyance._

_'Have you quite finished?' he bites out._

_'Is that what she said?' Jack chortles, winking lewdly at Sarah and clapping Billy jovially on the back, seemingly oblivious to Billy's rigid stance._

_'We've discussed your offer,' Billy says crossly, clearly trying to distract the smirking pirate._

_'And?' Anne speaks up for the first time, ignoring her companion._

_'Sarah will go with you and I'll find that damned cache for you.'_

_Jack nods, suddenly serious._

After several frustrating hours waiting for them to arrive, wishing the thing done and the unpleasantness over until she was all but twitching with impatience, it had taken Sarah aback how speedily the negotiations were concluded. A final admonishment to meet Anne at dusk by the wreck and they were gone again, disappearing into the forest before she had time to reflect on the full implications of the bargain Billy had struck. Even now she felt anguish curl its fist around her heart as she wondered what Billy's punishment would be if he failed to find the cache in the three months Jack had allotted him, but she knew she would be long gone by then, powerless to do anything to help him.

_She feels the looming presence of her pirate behind her and turns unthinkingly into his arms._

_'I did not think it would be so easy as that,' she says quietly, accepting the comfort of his embrace and resting her head on his chest. Billy's hands tighten around her and she feels him exhale softly._

_'What's left to discuss?' he says._

_Sarah shakes her head but doesn't answer. She has no answer for him. Instead she presses herself a little closer to him. The solid warmth of his body against her and the musky, smoky scent of him are enough to direct her unruly thoughts towards ideas that are distinctly unsuited to a lady of virtue. It is odd to her that something so wrong, something that she has been taught to regard as the very depths of depravity can bring her so much joy. She doesn't feel depraved, she feels carefree and content when she is in his arms._ _She wonders if he is thinking as she is and when he tips her head back to kiss her sweetly and then more ardently, pulling the fichu from her neck with impatient hands, it is clear to her that they are of one mind._

Sarah blinked the memory away and swallowed hard, taking Billy's hand in hers and brushing her thumb over the back of his knuckles. She tried not to think of the exquisite feel of his hands and mouth on her during their final coupling, as the sun had inched its way lower in the sky. It was desperate, almost frenzied in its intensity, as she sort to imprint every inch of him on her skin, her memory and her heart. Determined to have only bittersweet memories of her tall pirate lover.

For a brief time hers and hers alone.

'I'll be careful.' Her voice sounded brittle to her ears. She took a deep breath and tried to inject some life into her tone. 'You be safe…and find that cache.'

He nodded solemnly, a silent promise that allowed her to breathe a little easier. If he found the cache then perhaps Jack would help him to leave the island, to disappear. She could only hope, for his sake.

Anne scuffed a foot across the dry ground and then spat contemptuously.

'We've got to go,' she grunted before moving swiftly off.

Sarah swallowed hard as she looked at Billy, there was so much left unsaid and no time left to say it. They had talked of everything and nothing that day, and although he had told her of people in Nassau who may be able to help her in some way that was the only extent to which they had talked of the future. Instead they had talked softly of the past, by tacit agreement sharing only fond memories and avoiding difficult subjects. She had wasted so many precious moments, and now in the final seconds of her happiness her body and voice betrayed her with their reticence. She wanted to scream with frustration, beg Billy to let her stay, sob her grief against his broad chest, but she did none of those things. She squeezed his hand, then leaned in and pressed her lips to his, hard and fast. Pulling away she released his hand, not daring to meet his eyes.

'I love you,' she murmured, unable, at the close, to keep the words back from him. She didn't wait for a response but quickly and resolutely turned and followed Anne into the dimming light, too much a coward to spare him even a single glance back.

* * *

The two women took a roundabout route to the shallow bay where Jack's ship lay in anchor. Sarah could see the glow of the deck lamps on the ship across the water, piercing the dusk. Anne put a finger to her lips and squatted down on the sand, watchful and silent as night fell. Sarah assumed that they were waiting for a signal.

The signal turned out to be a burst of raucous laughter and sudden shouts of encouragement from the foredeck of the ship. Anne tapped her on the shoulder, once again put her finger to her lips and gestured for Sarah to follow. They slipped carefully into the water and swam slowly to the aft of the ship. Sarah's heart thudded in her chest as she tried not to think what terrors the dark water beneath her might contain. A rope ladder hung down from the window of the main cabin and Anne nimbly scampered up. For Sarah it was a bit more of an effort and she struggled not to grunt with exertion as she hauled herself up. The rope creaked under her weight as it swung gently but the shouting from the front of the ship didn't abate and there was no cry of alarm. When she swung herself, dripping wet, over the ledge into the large cabin that she could only presume was the private quarters of Captain Jack Rackham, Anne was waiting impatiently for her, bustling her aside to pull up the rope ladder and close the window. Sarah spoke a quiet word of thanks when Anne passed her some dry clothes, and then Anne crossed the room and held open the door to a small antechamber, waiting with barely concealed impatience until Sarah hesitantly entered the room.

'Get yourself dry and wait in here until I come back. Keep quiet.' Anne said. Sarah's voice seemed to have deserted her so she simply nodded and watched the red-haired woman stride out of the room, the clunk of the key turning in the lock ominous in the resulting silence.

Sarah quickly changed her clothes, draped her wet garments across a chair, where they dripped a steady tattoo on the planks, and then inspected her new quarters. The room was clearly some kind of storage room, attested by the stacked cases in one corner, and sparsely furnished with a hammock and the chair on which her clothing now hung. A single flickering lamp sat on the floor and there was no window. To Sarah it looked like a prison cell, the abode of a captive and it was this thought, and the locked door at her back, that finally broke her carefully maintained composure. She didn't make any move the stop the tears that flowed from her eyes but slid slowly to the floor, curling into herself and muffling the sound of her heaving sobs in her sleeve.

It was much later when Sarah had cried herself out and lay cradled in the hammock, the gentle sway of the ship soothing her into a doze. The sound of the door opening in the outer cabin broke through her reverie and she slid from her hammock and faced the door, heart pounding. There were shuffling footsteps and a clunk from outside and then the door swung open. To Sarah's relief it was Anne who stood framed in the doorway.

'I've got some wine if you want it,' she said curtly.

'Wine would be…' Sarah trailed off as Anne had already turned her back and stalked away. Taking a moment wipe the last remnants of her sorrow from her sore eyes Sarah made her way into the larger quarters where Anne had seated herself at the table, lounging in her chair in a pose at odds with the sharpness of her gaze, and poured two glasses of wine. Sitting down primly Sarah picked up one of the glasses and took a sip. The wine was heady and rich on her tongue, the taste evoking memories of former times. She set the glass down again. Anne watched, her expression only slightly removed from a glare.

'Wine not to your taste?'

Sarah shook her head.

'It's rather more potent than I remember, perhaps if it were watered it might be better,' Sarah responded carefully, not wishing to cause offence.

Anne grunted and pushed the second ceramic jug of water towards Sarah. Sarah picked it up and topped up her wine glass. The second sip was easier and although she didn't wish to drink, her palate considerably changed by the months of plain fare and water, she swallowed it down to placate the woman opposite her. The silence stretched, broken only by the creaking of the timbers that surrounded them and the occasional clink of glass on the wooden table top.

It was Anne who eventually spoke, much to Sarah's surprise. She hadn't expected Anne to initiate conversation and the unexpected question made her jump and almost knock over her glass.

'What you gonna do when you get to Nassau?'

Sarah bit her lip and shrugged slightly. 'I'm not sure. I thought that I would seek an audience with the Governor, perhaps he might be able to do something for me.'

'You should see Max, she'll help you. For a price.'

'Max?' Billy had mentioned Max once or twice. He had referred to her as a business owner, although subsequent discussions had led to Sarah surmising Max was a brothel keeper amongst other things.

Anne shot her a look that Sarah couldn't quite interpret but there was an odd softness in her eyes when she spoke again, almost pride.

'Max is the real power behind the Governor.'

Sarah nodded, storing that titbit of information away for future reference, she would need the help of someone powerful. She rubbed a hand across her eyes and then sighed.

'Hopefully I will be able to contact my father,' she paused. 'If he hasn't disowned me then he will arrange for my return to England.'

'Why would he have disowned you?'

Sarah couldn't help the incredulous look that she turned upon Anne.

'An undutiful daughter, barren and dishonoured, why do you think?'

Anne snorted contemptuously.

'Most of the whores in Nassau would be delighted to be barren. And the idea of a woman's value dependin' on her virtue is just a bullshit way for men to grind you under their heel.'

'I don't plan on becoming a whore,' Sarah said with as much dignity as she could muster.

'No-one _plans_ to become a whore,' Anne smirked at her.

Sarah couldn't argue with that. Perhaps that would be her punishment for giving herself to Billy, for loving him. Not that she would change what she had done.

'I'll not be staying in Nassau long enough for it to become a necessity,' she said with far more outward confidence than she was feeling.

'And then?'

'I will go home to my father and either marry again or live quietly in the country.'

Anne's eyebrows rose.

'That's it? They're your choices? Jesus!'

Looking at her glumly Sarah admitted, 'They're not even choices. My father will decide for me.'

'You had a husband?'

Sarah nodded cautiously.

'Dead?'

'No, he left me, married someone else. He was…not kind.'

For a moment something kindled in Anne's eyes.

'They never are. So why the fuck would you want to marry again?'

'Limited options,' Sarah said shortly and then curiosity prompted her to ask, 'Are you married to Captain Rackham?'

Anne gave her a thin lipped smile and shook her head. 'No, he knows better than to ask. My husband was a bully and a liar.' Anne didn't provide any further details but it was clear what kind of man her husband had been and Sarah's stomach clenched in sympathy. She did not voice it, somehow knowing that Anne would receive her compassion with contempt. 'Jack helped me to find a new life, far from that cunt.' Anne continued, that soft light that had flared when she spoke of Max visible once again.

'My husband wasn't a bully, he just didn't see me.'

'There's more ways to hurt someone than to beat them,' Anne said sagely. Sarah took a sip of wine and looked at the woman opposite over the rim of her glass. There was a sudden series of thumps from the deck above and a barrage of muffled shouting. Both women glanced up and Anne rolled her eyes.

'True,' Sarah acknowledged. 'And no guarantees that my future husband won't find new and imaginative ways to cause me pain.'

'Why go back then?'

'Because my other option is whoring myself to the pirates of Nassau.' She ignored the little voice in her head that pointed out some might say she had already done that and eyed the woman in front of her. 'Or piracy, I suppose.'

'Not every woman in Nassau is a whore or a pirate,' Anne pointed out. 'Do you have any skills apart from lookin' haughty and pourin' tea?'

Anne's expression didn't change but Sarah sensed she was being ribbed. A little unkindly perhaps, but meant in jest nonetheless. She gave Anne a hesitant smile, barely more than a slight upturn at the corners of her mouth, wondering as she did so at the bizarre turn her day had taken. The first time she had met this fierce woman Anne had threatened her life, then Sarah had followed her blindly onto ship full of pirates and now they sat across from each other drinking wine, a very tentative understanding growing between them. It seemed the disillusionment of women with their husbands was widespread and unifying, crossing all borders of class and experience.

'I can sew,' Sarah said slowly. 'Is there much call for seamstresses?'

'You'll not lack for work, especially if you're not above a little mendin' and the like.'

'I'm not above it, it's a bit late for me to be holding my nose up at anything.' Sarah said candidly, her eyes kindling for a second before her face fell and she blew out a long breath. It was a scenario not unlike her earlier daydreams but the most crucial aspect – Billy – was missing and without him she had no heart for it.

Anne eyed her narrowly. 'Why are you leavin'?' she said abruptly.

'I have to get home.'

'But you don't want to go.' Anne said it as a statement rather than a question, so Sarah didn't feel compelled to answer. 'If you want to stay, why leave, we 'ent forcin' you?'

'Billy…' Even just saying his name caused her voice to waver. 'Billy said it was best for me to go back to Nassau. I can get a ship to Philadelphia or home to England.'

'But you don't want to leave him.'

'It doesn't really matter what I want.'

Anne stood suddenly, hissed 'For fuck's sake!' making Sarah flinch, and slammed her way out of the cabin. Sarah sat staring at the door, unsure what had just occurred. The sudden switch from cautious accord to explosion of temper was disturbing to say the least. Especially as Sarah had no idea what she had done to trigger Anne's outburst. She was back sooner that Sarah would have liked and this time she had Jack Rackham in tow. He leaned both hands on the table top and surveyed Sarah in her seat.

'Anne tells me that there is some question as to whether you will be leaving with us?' he said by way of an opening. Sarah looked back and forth between him and Anne uncertainly.

'I don't think there is a question, I am to sail with you to Nassau in return for Billy finding your cache?'

'That was the agreement, but Anne is suggesting that that might not be what it is you wish.'

'I…I…of course that is what I wish.'

Jack turned to Anne with a roll of his eyes. 'I'm not sure what it is you want me to do, the lady seems perfectly sure.'

'Ask her if she wants to leave Billy.'

Jack turned and eyed Sarah narrowly. She felt her throat tighten at Anne's words. Why was she saying that? This was hard enough without someone questioning her decision, Billy's decision. There was no choice really, she might wish to stay but he wanted her to leave, he had made that quite clear and she would be damned if she spent any more of her life hoping for a man's affection to animate towards her. She had already spent too much time waiting.

'Do you?'

She lifted her chin defiantly, 'It's not really my choice and even if I did wish to stay I would not force my presence on someone if they did not wish it.'

Jack looked at her for a long moment and then laughed long and hard.

'Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?'

He glanced at Anne who gave him a sharp nod, to which he gave a resigned sigh.

'Why is it that I have to provide the emotional support now?' he complained before turning to Sarah, 'What Anne is trying, very inarticulately, to tell you is that I've never seen a man more brokenly self-sacrificing. If you don't want to leave him then don't. He certainly doesn't want you to leave, but he won't tell you that because he loves you and will do whatever he believes is best for you, no matter what it costs him.'

Because Sarah was looking at Jack as he spoke she saw the way his gaze flitted to Anne who was starring fixedly at Sarah. There was a brief expression of wretched devotion in his eyes before it was swiftly replaced with his more customary mocking glint as he shifted his gaze back to Sarah.

She didn't stop to ponder that but stared at him in disbelief.

_Was he telling the truth? Or were they playing some cruel trick on her?_

Surely, were it true, Billy would have found the opportunity to express the strength of his feelings for her? That condescending voice in her head pointed out that she hadn't really giving him a chance to respond when she had whispered those words to him and hurried away after Anne, unable to bear that the last expression she saw on his face might be fondly pitying.

That Billy cared for her she did not doubt, she had only to think of all his many kindnesses to recognise that; the respect with which he had treated her, the patience he had shown when teaching her new skills, how he had consoled her in her sadness and celebrated her triumphs, and how he had protected her from the worst excesses of her ignorance. It only dawned on her now that his anger and frustration only manifested itself when she spoke of Woodes, as if the real source of his rage was her former husband and his ill treatment of her.

She gulped in a ragged breath.

_Did Billy's feelings go beyond the carnal? Did he love her?_

That was certainly what Jack and Anne were insinuating but she didn't entirely trust them. Billy had kissed her as if they might but she had just assumed that was just a demonstration of his compassionate nature, despite his lack of deeper feelings. She wondered now if she had been a fool, studiously denying what should have been obvious. The eloquence of his kisses spoke of passion and longing and love, voiceless whispers of everything she had dreamed, but she thought them simply an illusion he had spun for her, a tender fallacy.

And yet, she suddenly realised, Billy had no skill in deception, his openness and sincerity first allowing her to trust him and then moving her to fond exasperation when she saw his poor attempts to lie to Jack and Anne. Even in the beginning, when he was surly and grim and they were taking their first faltering steps towards understanding she had been comforted by his inability to hide his emotions. She had assumed that his thoughts were an open book to her, every emotion shining clearly on his face but it was possible that she had misread his intentions and misconstrued his every expression.

She acknowledged that Billy would consider her return to Nassau and to civilisation to be for the best, would do everything he could to get her safely there even with the limited options available to them. At one time she would have agreed with him wholeheartedly and would have sailed away with barely a backward glance. Now she could only picture him alone on the island as he lost himself again in isolation and madness. With no-one to pull him from the mire of his melancholy it was possible the man she had come to love would all but disappear. The idea made her heart ache and she put a palm to her chest, as if the pressure of her hand could somehow ease the hollow dull pain. How could she go on without Billy?

Sarah bit her lip and looked up at the two pirates scrutinising her. Anne's expression was hard to read but there was a hint of derision, as if she could not believe Sarah's stupidity. Jack's was gentler but mocking as he watched the play of emotions on Sarah's face.

She looked away and fixed her gaze on the rough grain of the table top.

_Had she made a terrible mistake?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes she has (that's just my opinion though!).


	21. Chapter 21

The climb up the hill to the lookout was hard going on limbs made heavy with dejection but Billy pushed himself onwards, the pale moon lighting the path through the trees. Sleep had eluded him for most of the night and as dawn neared he had abandoned his restless tossing and made for the top of the hill. The moon had all but disappeared as he approached the summit but the sky was lightening and the first tentative bird calls of the day pierced the muffled whispering of the forest. Dropping down to the hard ground Billy draped his arms loosely around his knees and he waited, watching as the hazy horizon slowly brightened to shimmering gold, its brilliance reflecting in the ocean that stretched out before him.

The sun was a glowing red orb rising steadily when the ship finally came into view. Even from such a distance he could just about hear the muffled shouts of the men as they swarmed the deck like ants and the sharp snap of canvas as the main sails unfurled and billowed before catching the prevailing wind. Billy fruitlessly scanned the decks for any sign of Sarah, searching the dark windows of the main cabins trying to discern her pale face pressed to the glass watching the island recede behind the ship, but he saw nothing. Logically he knew she would be safely hidden away, not parading on the deck for all the men to see but it didn't prevent his heart seizing with disappointment. He rubbed his eyes, berating himself for his stupidity, and was only mildly surprised when his hand came away damp. He knew it would only hurt him to watch her leave like this but he couldn't pull himself away, couldn't help but torture himself with those final moments as she slipped forever from his grasp.

He wished now that he had told her that he loved her but he had not dared to hope that she would return his regard and so had steadfastly kept his own counsel. When she had whispered those words to him in parting and it had dawned on him that, for a woman such as she, giving herself to him was as obvious a declaration as any man could wish for, he could only curse himself for a fool. It was too late by then, she had already been swallowed up by the forest, but still it had taken every shred of his resolve not to chase her through the trees and beg her to stay with him. He couldn't ask that of her, she had a future to look forward to and he had none.

Billy tugged a hand through his hair as he watched the departing ship grow steadily smaller and belatedly began to wonder, would anyone really still be looking for him? They all thought him dead. If he went somewhere other than Nassau, far enough north perhaps, would it be possible to live without looking over his shoulder always? In the softening light of dawn he couldn't help but contemplate how different his future could look had he the courage to grasp the opportunity instead of turning his face away from the world. Could there have been a place for them after all had he put aside his fears and doubts and simply followed his selfish desires?

When Sarah had first appeared in his milieu he had reacted with paranoia and violence but despite the terror he had inspired in her she had comported herself with bravery and dignity. Initially he had been sullen with her, impatient of her helplessness. She was a constant prim reminder that a world existed outside the borders of the island, a world to which he could not return and he almost hated her for it. He hadn't been completely unsympathetic as he had watched her slow decent into melancholy, knowing all too well how hopelessness drained the soul from the body leaving only an empty shell, but he had done very little to aid her, just observed impassively. Her pathetic dependence on him had at least given him focus and a task in those early days, something other to think about than his own remorse and shame, and though he had resented that her presence prevented him from wallowing in his self-pity he had come to admire her fortitude as she had gradually dragged herself out of the mire of her own regret and found a way for the two of them to coexist peaceably.

It was only when he thought that she had eaten those deadly apples and he had bathed her to remove the burning sap that he realised that his feelings for her went a bit further than simple respect. She had seduced him that day without even realising it, the image of her damp chemise clinging indecently to her curves as she had hurried away slipping into his thoughts at some remarkably inconvenient times. He had tried to convince himself that it was only the enticement of feminine company after so many months without that turned his head, but it was not the same prickle of lust he felt when visiting a whore after a long sea voyage, an itch that would find satisfaction in a quick and heady fuck.

Although his hands yearned to touch her, to trace the gentle sway of her hips and feel the smoothness of her pale skin, it wasn't just lust, it was something more. He was captivated by her determination, her tentative smiles, the rapt look of concentration on her face when she was attempting some new task and the sparkling merriment in her eyes as she began to open up to him. Even her unswerving loyalty to her undeserving husband Billy found compelling, perhaps because despite that loyalty being abused to the point of breaking she had not broken. She made him want to be a better person, to atone for all that he had done even though there was no possibility of her returning his esteem, and as time went on Billy realised he was fucked.

She was like a flower taken from some shaded location and replanted in the sun, opening up carefully to become more and more beautiful. He thought before she arrived that he hated Captain Flint with every fibre of his being but as Sarah eventually began to speak haltingly of the unfeeling indifference she had experienced at the hands of her husband it became clear to Billy that he had been mistaken, the man he really hated was Woodes Rogers. Her words aroused something savage and vengeful in Billy, far more vicious than any emotion he had felt for Flint. While he would never forgive Flint for the death of Hal Gates the burning desire for revenge had left him and only a more muted resignation and regret remained. Rogers was another matter and Billy seethed inwardly at every incident Sarah alluded to when it was clear that her former husband had treated her with anything other than the devotion that she deserved. The thought of Roger's showing only indifference as she tried to conform to his ideals of the perfect wife made Billy's blood boil, with fury and jealousy.

He had tried so hard to hold himself in check, to hide all that he felt for her, not wishing to sully her goodness with his filthy touch and sordid past. But she had other ideas, saw something in him that he thought was lost forever and shattered his faltering willpower with her quiet strength and gentle nature. It had been a revelation when he had first caught her watching him, something in her eyes that he had seen in women's eyes before when they rested on the contours of his body but that he had never expected to see in hers. He had tried to ignore the telling way she had swiftly looked away when their eyes met and the pink tint in her cheeks, but the basest form of his nature couldn't resist testing the waters. He had flirted gently and let his admiration show just a little, not enough to scare her, but enough. Christ, he wanted her and he wanted her to want him, and when she had allowed him to touch her all his good intentions had immediately crumbled to dust. Just the hesitant caress of her fingertips against his jaw had his heart pounding in his chest and the inexperienced press of her lips left him aching with desire. The way she had looked at him when he made love to her, with complete trust, had signified the moment of his doom. There was no other word for it, for he knew that whatever happened her happiness was all that mattered to him now. He would throw himself into fire, endure any agony just to ensure that she was content and cherished. And yet, he was woefully ill equipped to do any such thing. He had no money, no influence and no ship. Christ, he couldn't even accompany her safely back to Nassau but he had done as much as he could, even when it meant the sacrifice of every futile but beguiling dream he had had regarding their future.

He watched the ship dwindle and fade as it approached the horizon, squinting hard in the bright sunlight that glittered painfully off the water. His mental assertion that that was the reason for his watering eyes would have convinced no-one, least of all himself. When finally the ship vanished from his sight he clenched an impotent fist and pounded it against the ground repeatedly until a jagged rock split the skin of his knuckles and the sharp sting brought him back to himself. He hefted the offending rock in his hand and then hurled it down the slope, listening to the rustle of leaves dislodged by its passing and the clatter as it hit the ground.

His heart sat like lead in his chest, each ragged breath he took tight and painful. He got up slowly, cast one last longing glance at the empty horizon before turning his back and scuffing his way down the hill, his body expressing the reluctance he refused to acknowledge with its sluggish tread, unwilling to see the empty clearing, knowing however many times he told himself that she was just walking the forest it would not ease his misery.

The trees around him were hushed as if they too grieved. He followed the path towards the hut, moving soundlessly like a wraith and feeling just as empty and insubstantial, as if some part of him had been torn away with her departure. Approaching the gap in the trees he paused, steeling himself, and then slipped silently into the clearing. He had only taken a few steps when he froze at the impossible sight before him. Squeezing his eyes shut he tried in vain to calm his racing heart. It seemed the madness of isolation would not even allow him a small reprieve before it curled its cruel fingers around his mind and wrenched away his sanity. He had expected the paranoia to return as the weeks passed but not hallucinations as well and certainly not so soon. He rubbed a rough hand across his face and opened his eyes.

The illusion did not dissipate.

Sarah looked so real sitting there by the fireside calmly stitching, as if she had not just sailed away to Nassau. She did not look up, focused on her embroidery as always, her dark hair falling in gentle, damp waves down her back with a single curl nestling loosely across her slightly flushed cheek. She bit her lip in concentration and pulled the thread carefully though the fabric to set another stitch.

She looked perfect and Billy wished vehemently that she was real, that she wasn't a product of his muddled senses and hopeless grief. He couldn't move, couldn't bring himself to shatter this figment of his imagination. He could only stand and stare wistfully at the vision, drinking in every detail of her.

As if she felt his hungry gaze upon her she looked up and stared directly at him, eyes widening. As he watched she unfolded her willowy frame and rose slowly to her feet, dropping her stitchery carelessly to the ground. Billy noticed a slight tremor in her hands and it struck him as an odd detail for his imagination to supply. He felt suddenly breathless, absurd hope squeezing the air from his chest. Sarah's eyes remained locked on his, fear and hope glimmering in their depths. Billy couldn't remember moving but he found himself striding towards her and to his joy she came running to meet him. She cast herself against his chest and threw her arms around his neck. He crushed her frantically to him and breathed in the soft scent of her hair.

She was warm and vital.

 _And real_.

He bent his head and kissed her fiercely, pouring every ounce of his love and longing into the press of his lips on hers, licking into her mouth in a sweet, sensual caress even as his hands tangled in her hair. He pulled away but it was only so he could lavish attention on every part of her beloved face, kissing her forehead, the tip of her nose and her pink cheeks before claiming her lips once more.

It took an awfully long time for his wits to return. He couldn't stop kissing her and she made no move to interrupt him, but when his reason finally exerted itself he pulled away and gave her harsh shake. The euphoria of her return had crumbled under on the onslaught of his sudden panic and his tone was as rough as the hands that gripped her when he demanded to know why she wasn't on the ship to Nassau. She was supposed to be safe, on her way to civilisation and those who could protect her.

She barely reacted to Billy's exasperation but instead met his eyes with a complacent expression, so entirely unmoved by his anger that he wanted to shake her again, if only to elicit the appropriate degree of concern that he felt the situation warranted.

'Rackham and Anne gave me to understand that I may have been mistaken in your wishes,' she said calmly.

'What did those idiots tell you?' he demanded.

'They said…' she hesitated and there was a flash of uncertainty in her eyes before it was replaced by determination. 'They said that perhaps you didn't want me to leave?'

'Of course I didn't want you to leave! That doesn't change the fact that you should be on that ship,' Billy said forcefully, struggling not to shout. He knew that he was being an ass but he couldn't stop himself, there were too many clashing and contradictory emotions swirling around his head, making it almost impossible for him to think clearly.

'I believe that ship has…ah…sailed,' she said, and there was a glimmer of mischief in her eyes as if she was finding the whole situation amusing.

Billy scrubbed his hands through his hair, rolling his eyes wildly up at the sky while trying to collect his tangled thoughts.

'Jesus, why would you do this? You must be mad!'

His exclamation caused all her amusement to flee and when he looked at her again her eyes were briefly clouded.

'Perhaps,' she acknowledged evenly. 'But it's too late now, given that the ship is gone and won't be back for three months.'

Billy hardly heard her, he was too busy flailing around trying to find some way to undo what she had done, some way to make her safe, and finding none. 'Shit!' he spat out, clenching his fists impotently against his thighs.

'It's too late now,' Sarah repeated, her unperturbed air fading and a frown beginning to pinch between her brows. She shifted away from him, her hands dropping from his shoulders to her sides, and he let her go, even though his first instinct was to pull her to him. He wanted to soothe her distress even though he was fully aware that it was his oafishness that was the cause of it. She looked down at the ground and he noticed that she was reflexively picking at her thumb nail even as she began to speak softly. 'I thought…that is Jack and Anne led me to understand…' she stopped suddenly and fixed narrowed eyes on him. 'If we were not on this island, were somewhere safe, would you want me to leave?' she demanded.

Billy gaped at her, unthinkingly reaching out a hand to her before dropping it quickly.

'Of course not,' he said quietly. 'But it's not right, you being here.'

She gave an exasperated growl and stepped forward to grasp the front of his shirt.

'Billy, I don't care what is right, I care what you want!' She softened her tone. 'Tell me what you want.'

He stilled and stared down at her small hand on his chest. It reminded him of the first time he had kissed her and the unexpected rush of love he had felt as he held her in his arms, and the ensuing shame as he berated himself in the falling rain for not controlling his desires. It surprised him that she would even need to ask that question, surely it was obvious that he wanted her, loved her? And yet as he recollected all that he had said to her since his first effusive welcome it dawned on him, like a punch to the gut, that he had given her almost no indication with his words that he was even happy to see her, let alone ecstatic.

'I want…' he paused and took a deep breath. 'I want you. With me…always.'

As he watched Sarah looked up at him and slowly a glowing smile lit up her features. The sight of it took his breath away but he did his best to keep his head.

'But…' Billy began

'If you say it's not right again…well, I don't know what I'll do but you will suffer,' she interrupted him, jabbing him in the chest with a reproving finger before she reached up and gently touched his cheek. 'I thought that there was no place for me anymore but I realised on the ship that there is, there is a place for me.' She gazed at him through her lashes and Billy felt like his heart might burst. 'And it's by your side, wherever that may be.'

'Sarah,' he began, trying not to get swept up by all the wondrous possibilities, he had no right to even dream that she could be his. 'I can't let you make such a sacrifice, can't you see that? Not for me, not when I have so little to offer you.'

'It's not a sacrifice, Billy,' she said tenderly. 'I think it may be the first decision I have made that doesn't feel like a sacrifice.' She paused and cocked her head reflectively before giving him a saucy smile. 'Well, perhaps the second. I know my own mind and I don't want to go back to Nassau, I don't want all of the things you think I need to be happy. Woodes can hang for all I care. I only want…I only _need_ you.'

'You don't need me, I'm the last thing you _need._ You need to go home where you belong and…and forget all about me,' he said in a rough tone, trying one last time to reason with her, to make her see how insane she was to even consider this. Predictably she simply shook her head, sighing lightly as if he were a recalcitrant child.

'You ridiculous man, as if I could forget you.'

'You could try?'

'Or I could not. Perhaps we could return to the moment when you first greeted me back from the ship, I rather preferred that to this fruitless discussion.'

'I didn't know you would be here, I lost my head for a moment.'

'I'll have to make sure you lose it on a regular basis from now on then, I like it when you kiss me…and other things,' she said boldly, although her cheeks reddened tellingly. Billy groaned, realising he was fighting a losing battle, a battle that he didn't even want to win. Surrender seemed to be his only option but he couldn't find it in his heart to complain, there had never been a sweeter surrender. He gathered up her hands to his chest and pressed his forehead to hers.

'You must be crazy. Are you sure about this?'

'Only if you are?'

'Only if…fuck Sarah, of course I'm sure. I just want you to have the things that you deserve.'

'I have all the things that I want here.'

Unable to stop himself he caught her face in his hands and pressed a heated kiss to her lips. She hummed and opened her lips to the sweep of his tongue, allowing him to surge inside. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden and pulled away.

'God, I love you,' he said breathlessly, realising as he said it that it was the first time he had spoken those words to her. 'I love you so much.' It felt good to say it.

Sarah looked at him for a long time and as he watched her eyes brightened with moisture.

'Well, that is a relief,' she said giving him a tremulous smile, as the tears overflowed and slipped down her cheeks. Billy carefully wiped away the tears and smoothed her hair back from her brow before he kissed her softly again. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing her body to his until there was no telling between them. Sliding her arms around his neck she hid her face against his chest and sighed contentedly as he caressed her hair and allowed himself to just enjoy the feel of her close. When she spoke again she didn't raise her head and it was so muffled he had to ask her to repeat herself. She lifted her head, resting her dark eyes on him.

'I love you, William Manderly,' she said and Billy was pretty sure in that moment that his full heart did indeed burst. Sarah gave a little squeak when he picked her up but then laughed, a sound rich with happiness, and continued to laugh until he hushed her by kissing her soundly again.

By the time sun had reached its zenith Billy was reasonably confident that he had thoroughly assuaged all Sarah's misgivings and doubts regarding his feelings for her. He gave a satisfied groan and stretched lazily before curling himself around her and resting his head on her chest. The muted thump of her heartbeat under his ear was somehow soothing and the feel of her soft skin under his fingertips as he traced patterns on her bare stomach so enthralling that Billy could quite happily have stayed exactly as he was forever. Sarah idly combed a hand through his hair, raking her nails gently across his scalp and he had to supress the pleasurable shiver that ran through him as he tried to concentrate on her words.

'Jack said they would return for us in three months, and if we have found the cache then he has promised to take us all the way to Philadelphia, although he says from there we are on our own. We could go north, maybe to New York, or find a ship to take us somewhere else. Anne says that you did well when you led the resistance in Nassau. The English were so focussed on Long John Silver that hardly any descriptions of you were circulated, so as long as we avoid the haunts of pirates we are unlikely to encounter anyone who would know you.' She said it all in rush and then fell silent. Billy could feel the slight tension in her frame as she waited for his response. His hand stilled and he found he could barely breathe as she outlined her plans for _their_ future, resolute and practical as always.

Despite his present happiness doubt still lurked, that all he wished might be snatched away if he dared to dream but he found her pragmatism reassuring and that, and the warmth of her body pressed against him, helped to calm his fears. He swallowed down all his emotions and cleared his throat to say, 'That's good.'

It wasn't the most enthusiastic of rejoinders but Sarah seemed satisfied so Billy could only assume she understood the reason for his diffidence. At any rate he felt her relax and her hand resume stroking his head as she continued, 'Anne gave me a few more items that might be of use, and I raided their rum stock, so provided you can control yourself and don't do anything dangerous we shouldn't run out,' He could hear the teasing smile in her voice and it warmed him. He felt momentarily carefree and rejoiced in the unfamiliar feeling.

'I'll do my best,' he promised with mock solemnity.

'I was hoping that we might be able to get a dairy goat but there was no way of smuggling it off the ship without the men noticing,' she said after a moment of contemplation.

Billy couldn't help himself, he grinned. 'You steal a man's favourite goat, he's bound to notice.'

She shifted slightly under him, her hand pausing in his hair.

'Do the men have favourites? I wouldn't have thought they would have much interest in the goats.'

'Well, a man can get lonely at sea.'

'Lonely? I don't see how the goats would help with…oh!'

Billy chuckled wryly and propped himself up on his elbows so he could take in her wide eyed and shocked expression. She thought for a moment, lips slightly pursed and a pensive frown marring the smooth line of her forehead, and then asked hesitantly, 'Have you ever…?'

He gave a whoop of laughter, 'Fuck no, I've never reached _that_ stage of loneliness!'

'That's a relief, I'm not sure how I would feel about that.'

'No sure? I think it's acceptable for you to be utterly disgusted and leave it at that!' he said with a grin, leaning forward to kiss her.

She accepted the kiss but he could see her mind was still distracted by his revelation and as he gazed at her she shook her head slowly.

'The dairy goat?' she muttered in mystification and Billy couldn't help but start laughing again.


	22. Chapter 22

'Billy! Billy! There's men on the beach!' Sarah exclaimed breathlessly as she ran into the clearing and smacked into Billy's chest. He caught her with one large hand as she stumbled, gripping her arm and holding her upright.

'Men?' he said quickly. 'Jack and Anne?'

Sarah shook her head. 'I don't think so, they're anchored in the bay and flying a Dutch flag.'

Billy bit his lip. 'They're not flying the Black?'

'Not that I could see,' Sarah said bouncing on her toes with excitement. It had been almost four months since their pirate saviours had left in the early morning light with a promise to return in three and although the cache had long since been found Jack and Anne were conspicuous in their absence.

Billy didn't seem to share her enthusiasm for marching down to the beach, introducing themselves and pleading for rescue. He insisted they watch the unknown men for the span of a whole day, which she privately thought was ridiculously over-cautious, before he would even consider revealing their presence and even then he flatly refused to allow her to be involved in the initial meeting. Sarah argued and pouted but he remained firm.

'Absolutely not,' he said when she tried again to reason with him. 'I'll go speak with them and if I sense anything amiss I'll signal you and you can hide at the lookout and wait for me.'

Sarah huffed. 'What about you?'

'I'll be fine and I'll come find you as soon as I'm able.'

'And if you're not?'

'Then you hide until they're gone and wait for Jack and Anne.'

'That's hardly a good plan,' she pointed out a little petulantly.

'Well, it's the best I've got at the moment,' he admitted with a sigh.

Sarah knew that should anything happen to him then she would not be hiding and saving her own skin but she judged it prudent not to mention that fact for now. She glanced through the trees to the men working steadily on the beach. They didn't look particularly threatening, in fact they all, to a man, looked thin and exhausted. Billy was of the opinion that they had been becalmed for quite some time, hence their haggard appearance and apparently unscheduled halt on the island.

They had spotted the captain early on as he directed the teams of men in the crucial task of unloading and refilling of the water casks. He appeared to have no qualms taking on his share of the work alongside his men and from a distance seemed to have a stern but paternal air about him. Billy commented that the crew seemed content to do the captain's bidding without complaint and the observation seemed to relax his tense stance a little, although he remained watchful.

As evening was setting in and the men on the beach were lighting fires and bedding down for the night, Billy and Sarah made their way back to the hut. Sarah was anxious about letting their would-be rescuers out of her sight, she had visions of returning the next morning to find the beach empty and the ship on the horizon in full sail, but Billy assured her that they would not be going anywhere for at least a couple of days.

'Maybe more, it depends how low their stores are and how long it takes them to replenish.'

'But we will go tomorrow and speak with them?' Sarah asked urgently.

'Yes, tomorrow,' Billy acknowledged then looked down at her seriously. 'We need to work out our story, how we ended up here and so on.'

'And no mention of your nefarious past?' Sarah said with a mischievous twinkle.

'Definitely not,' Billy said with a snort. 'I..I thought that perhaps…' He paused and Sarah was confused by his evident embarrassment.

'You thought?' she prompted gently.

'I thought that we should introduce ourselves as husband and wife,' he said hurriedly. 'The men will be less likely to bother you if they think that you're mine.'

Sarah rubbed her cheek along his jaw line. 'I am yours,' she murmured.

Billy gave a tiny groan as he pulled her flush against him and kissed her fiercely. When he pulled away to suck in a breath of air, Sarah couldn't help but add, 'Only yours,' and be pleased when his mouth was almost immediately on hers again and his hands were fumbling with her shirt, dragging it up and over her head eagerly.

She smugly tucked the knowledge of Billy's possessiveness away for future use and sank into his embrace, tugging just as impatiently at the fastenings of his trousers.

It was only after when they lay together in a tangle of limbs, clothes discarded on the floor, breathing slowing in the aftermath of their lovemaking that they returned to the discussion of their false history.

The story they concocted was a mixture of truth, half-truths and outright lies but it held enough basis in reality to be believable and for Billy to recite it moderately convincingly. To explain Billy's extensive seamanship, not to mention the scars that marred his body, his time in the Navy was not glossed over, although the events leading to his desertion and its aftermath were. Sarah's refined accents and education would be explained away with a posting as a governess and there would be no mention of her previous marriage. They had been travelling, newly married after an emotional reunion following Billy's escape from the British Navy, to the New World to start their life together when disaster had struck.

The men, as Billy had predicted and to Sarah's relief, were still encamped on the beach the next morning. Sarah watched the early morning rousing as fasts were broken and the grim mood of the previous day was lightened with plentiful water and food and some teasing and larking about. The captain looked on benevolently, relaxing in the shade of an awning, smiling slightly at the antics of his men.

Billy took a deep breath and stood from his crouch. Sarah followed his movement and pressed a hand to his arm causing him to glance at her.

'Be careful,' she said pointlessly.

'I will, just wait here for my signal,' he said covering her hand with his own. He turned to leave but she pulled him back and kissed him hard on the lips.

'It'll be fine,' he reassured her as he drew back. She nodded, her racing heart reaching into her throat and preventing speech.

He patted her hand and gently dislodged it so he could push his way through the undergrowth and out onto the beach. Sarah dropped once again to a crouch and watched his progress intently. He walked slowly with his empty hands clearly in view. There was a brief pause and then a shout went up as he was spotted. Sarah pressed a hand to her chest trying to steady the rapid pulse of her heart as weapons were drawn and a gun was trained on Billy by a thickset, dark-haired man closest to the treeline. She saw the captain rise to his feet, searching for the source of the sudden uproar, reaching for the pistol that hung at his belt. Throughout all the commotion Billy did not hesitate but continued his steady approach, clearly trying to appear as unthreatening as possible. Beyond their initial reaction to his appearance the men remained in place, their eyes wary but not overtly aggressive. The captain came forward to meet Billy, two men flanking him protectively. Sarah could not see Billy's face but she saw his hand stretch out in greeting. The captain took his hand but did not relax his stern countenance.

The air amongst the trees was stifling and the heavy wool of Sarah's dress, donned that morning to present the respectable appearance of a married lady, was not helping. She loosened her fichu and fanned herself slowly, eyes intent on the scene unfolding before her. The distance meant that the conversation was completely inaudible but she tried her hardest to read the expressions of those men she could see clearly. It did not help. One of the men, the taller of the two either side of the captain was frowning, his face a mask of hard suspicion. The other of the captain's seconds was a dark-skinned man who was almost completely expressionless, giving absolutely no indication of his thoughts. The captain continued to look guarded as Billy spoke quickly and Sarah felt her fear intensify. There was no easing of the distrustful expressions that painted the faces of the men and those not close enough to Billy to hear his words were glancing around sharply as if expecting attack. She saw Billy's shoulders slump in resignation and he spoke again, gesturing over his shoulder. It seemed to her that the captain's expression, although still wary, eased a tiny bit and Sarah's racing heart slowed fractionally. Billy shook his head emphatically but that seemed to anger the tall man beside the captain and he said something tersely. The captain put a hand to the man's shoulder, seemingly placating him, but still looked mistrustful when he turned his attention back to Billy. Under his intense scrutiny Billy took a deep breath and dropped his head in defeat before turning and pointing towards the trees where Sarah was hidden. She held her breath and watched as all the men's eyes swivelled to her hiding place in the thick foliage. Billy raised a hand and beckoned her. Rising to her feet she tucked her fichu back into her bodice and brushed her skirts before stepping out into the harsh sunlight and into view.

There was a murmur, almost a sigh that rippled through the assembled men and she realised that until she had made her appearance they had not believed Billy's story, had wondered if it was a ruse and all that awaited them in the trees was another crew bent on violence. She picked up her skirts and made her way daintily across the sand. The eyes of some twenty men followed her progress to Billy and she felt every penetrating gaze, weighing and assessing her every movement. Billy murmured something to the captain who gave a sudden bark of laughter and clapped him on the back with all the appearance of joviality. The men around him relaxed at the sight of their leader's amusement and Sarah surreptitiously let out a long breath, watching as the tension in her lover's shoulders loosened slightly.

As she approached Billy put out a reassuring hand. She took it and felt the encouraging press of his fingers around hers. He drew her forward until she stood before the captain.

'Captain, allow me to present my wife. Sarah, this is Captain Visser of the Dolfijn.'

Sarah, following Billy's lead, sank into a formal curtsey and extended her free hand to the captain. He caught it with a genuine smile and pressed his lips to her knuckles.

'It is my pleasure, Mrs Gates,' he said in heavily accented English. Billy's choice of name caused Sarah to suppress a smile but she attended the captain as he continued, 'I hope your husband will forgive our scepticism, there are tales of pirates that inhabit this island and as captain I cannot be too careful for the sake of my men.'

'Pirates? Here?' Sarah said, feigning horror until she felt Billy's admonitory pinch to her hip and she toned it down a trifle. Giving Captain Visser a conspiratorial smile she said, 'If I am perfectly honest, we too were concerned that you might be pirates, that is why Billy sought to keep me hidden.'

'Perfectly understandable, although it was clear that he was hiding something as soon as he spoke.' Sarah didn't roll her eyes at Billy but it was a close run thing and she felt his grip on her hand tighten apologetically. Visser clapped his hands together jovially. 'Anyway, that is all past now. You have had quite the adventure, have you not?'

'Adventure speaks of something somewhat more romantic than our experience,' she responded with a rueful smile. Captain Visser laughed and grasped her fingertips. He had a pleasing countenance, avuncular with grey dusting the hair at his temples and creases around his eyes suggestive of a man of humour despite his earlier coldness and suspicion.

'Perhaps we can do something to aid you in your difficulty,' he said releasing her hand. Sarah glanced up at Billy and then smiled back at the captain.

'We would be ever so grateful.'

* * *

Despite the efficiency with which Captain Visser's crew worked it still took five days to restock the ship and make ready to sail again. Initially there were grumblings from the hungry men about extra mouths to feed but they were soon silenced when Billy ambled out of the forest later on the first day with two fresh caught pigs for roasting. He and the quartermaster, Mr Janssen, the more open of Visser's seconds and a man almost as tall as Billy himself, were soon leaning over a makeshift map of the island as Billy pointed out the animals' preferred ranges. By the second day Billy and Mr Janssen were leading hunting parties into the interior and decimating the island's population of swine.

Initially Sarah stuck close to Captain Visser, unsure of her place and slightly intimidated by the bustle and commotion of so many men. Although the crew were perfectly respectful the avid gazes of one or two of the men made her uneasy. Her wool dress was hot under the unrelenting sun but she wore it as an armour of respectability, conscious that Billy may have been right to insist on the falsehood of their marriage.

She watched the captain intently for a time as he gave orders and organised his men. Eventually the sight of him directing a small group of men in the building of a smoker from canes of green wood and some patched canvas gave her an idea. She approached Visser and waited patiently until he had finished and turned to her with a slight roll of his eyes.

'They'll work it out eventually,' he said with a rueful smile. 'What can I do for you, Mrs Gates?'

'The boot is rather on the other foot, I thought I may be able to do something for you. I know a lot of places where fruit and roots grow in abundance, as well as the best fishing spots and where the crabs like to lurk amongst the shallows. Perhaps I could show some of your men?'

Visser beamed at her and Sarah immediately felt better.

'That would be very useful indeed,' he said with a decisive nod. Glancing around he raised his voice and called over his first mate. The taciturn black man turned at the sound of his name and jogged over to the captain, giving Sarah a small nod of acknowledgement.

'Uchechi, assemble a group of men, Mrs Gates is going to show you where to gather more food for our stores.'

'Yes, Captain,' Uchechi said quietly. 'Come with me,' he said to Sarah and then strode away. Sarah took her leave of Captain Visser, who waved her on her way with a smile, and then made her way over to Uchechi who was mustering a small troop of men, aided by Mr Walsh. Walsh was a jovial Irishman with ruddy cheeks and a booming laugh whose gregariousness was in direct contrast with Uchechi's more reserved nature but despite the disparity in their manners Sarah had noted that the two were rarely apart.

Seeing her approach, Walsh turned to her with a rather clumsy bow and a grin.

'Mrs Gates, Uchechi tells me you're to be our guide to the island.'

The eyes of the whole group turned on her and Sarah attempted to swallow down her sudden self-consciousness.

'I'll do my best,' she said quietly.

'I'm sure you'll be grand. Look lively lads,' he said grabbing a couple of close woven nets from the sand and tossing them to one of the men who caught them with a curse. 'And watch your language, there's a lady present.'

Sarah suppressed a smile, imagining Billy's amusement had he heard Walsh's well-meaning rebuke.

By the time she had taken their little group down to the beach to show them where the fish tended to congregate and then across the tidal pools in search of crabs Walsh had regaled her with both his and Uchechi's histories.

'I've known him for years,' Walsh informed her, clapping his friend forcefully on the back with little reaction from Uchechi other than a flicker of a smile. 'I knew the moment I saw him that he loved the sea like a mistress and he weren't afraid of hard work. And it weren't long before the captain saw it too.'

Sarah glanced up to see Walsh regarding Uchechi with fierce pride.

'There's those that would've given the position to another when anyone with eyes could see who the best man for the job was, but not Captain Visser. He gives responsibility to those that deserve it, on the merits of their character and nothing else.'

Uchechi said nothing but Sarah saw his lips twitch almost imperceptibly.

'Captain knows to reward hard work, he don't regard social standing if you're a lazy son of a…' Walsh was stopped by a sharp look from Uchechi and had the grace to look embarrassed by his slip, clearing his throat awkwardly. 'If you're lazy,' he finished lamely.

Uchechi's silence rather unnerved Sarah at first. She found herself on easier terms with Walsh but as the day progressed and in response to her cautious questions Uchechi began to tell her tales of his homeland as they gathered fruit, roots and herbs in the forest. He had a quiet humour that expressed itself only with occasional faint smile or a rare dry chuckle but his observations were astute and amusing and when combined with Walsh's much more exuberant wit made the chore pass quickly.

By the time Billy found her that evening she was seated by the fire, a pile of silver coins in her lap and a chagrined Walsh regarding her balefully over a hand of cards while the other men mocked their shipmate's defeat. Even Uchechi was wearing an uncharacteristically broad grin on his face. A sudden hush fell and there was a nervous shuffling of feet which alerted Sarah to Billy's approach. She looked up and he was stood at the edge of the group, arms folded across his chest, lips twitching tellingly.

'I may have found a way to to fund the purchase of a house,' she said by way of a greeting, gesturing to the pile of coins before her. 'How large would you like it to be?'

Billy's smile stretched to a wicked grin. 'I was thinking of something pretty substantial, with a drawing room and spacious stables for all our horses.'

Sarah hummed thoughtfully, 'That shouldn't be a problem.'

Walsh looked entreatingly up at Billy. 'Gates man, ask your missus to take pity on me, she's heartless is what she is.'

'Sorry Walsh, but she is taking pity on you,' Billy said with a chuckle. 'The fact you've got any coins left at all attests to that.'

The other men hooted and laughed and a commiserating hand was clapped on Walsh's shoulder. He shrugged it off. 'I'd like to see any of you dolts do better!' he said with a chuckle and a mock glare.

'I'm happy to play anyone that wants to,' Sarah said promptly. 'Any more money to add to my purse would be greatly appreciated.'

The men roared with laughter at that and Billy winked at Sarah. He stepped forward into the circle of the firelight and held out a hand.

'Have you finished, my dear? You'll have plenty more opportunities to pick them clean another day.'

Sarah nodded, swept her coins into her pocket and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

'Sorry boys, but I think it's about time me and my wife retired for the evening,' Billy said. There was a fair amount of good natured nudging and a whistle or two that followed that statement.

'What, and no chance to get my revenge?' Walsh said.

'You'll not get your revenge tonight or any night, but you'll have other opportunities to play her, if she wishes?' Billy glanced down at Sarah and she nodded solemnly in agreement.

'Thank you, Gentlemen, for your company, and for the game,' Sarah said in farewell.

'Did you hear that, Walsh, she called us gentlemen,' Sarah heard one of the sailors say as she followed Billy away for the fire.

Walsh guffawed. 'She definitely weren't talking to you!' The sailor made a sound of disgruntlement and there was a thump of a fist striking something followed by more thumps, some cheering and a lot of cursing.

Sarah and Billy retreated to the privacy of their hut, a lamp lighting the way through the pitch black trees, their fingers laced together as they walked. Sarah cherished these quiet moments with him, when they could talk, kiss and touch after a day spent apart in their respective labours, renewing the intimacy between them as night fell. The sudden influx of new people to their life was a little overwhelming and while Sarah was grateful for the renewal of their hopes with the arrival of the Dolfijn she found herself somehow missing their solitude. They passed the time talking and planning, sometimes wild, unfeasible plans filled with riches and adventures which became steadily more outlandish as they talked, and then later careful, rational plans that filled Sarah with a sense of warmth and home. At all times there was a hint of doubt as to whether anything would turn out as they envisaged, for although Captain Visser had promised to take them as far north as New York neither of them knew if it would be far enough to shake off the last vestiges of Billy's past.

However, when she stood in a sheltered spot on the deck of the Dolfijn a few days later, Billy's arms around her, and watched the island recede in the distance, she found that she felt only hope and a wealth of possibility beckoning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dutch merchants ex machina. Well, I had to get them off the island somehow and sadly Jack and Anne have been arrested.


	23. Chapter 23

The ship swooped on the waves and Sarah concentrated on keeping her hand steady as she meticulously finished inking the leaf she was drawing. She lifted the quill and contemplated her work, comparing it to the original in the botany book, before nodding her head in satisfaction. Dipping the feather back into the new bottle of ink that Captain Visser had presented her with earlier in the day, vastly superior in quality to the muddy stuff she had been using, she began transcribing the notes on the plant neatly next to the drawing she had made.

She paused in her writing at a particularly large swell and looked up as the door opened and Billy came into the small cabin they shared. He shut the door quietly, looking quite at home despite the movement of the ship beneath his feet, his hair windswept and damp from sea spray. Sarah cocked a questioning brow at his dishevelled state.

'The wind changed so we had to reset the sails,' he said shrugging off his shirt, which also looked wet, as he crossed the room and began rummaging in the chest that held all their belongings. Sarah knew she was staring but there was always something arresting about the sight of Billy déshabillé. He looked up and grinned at her as he dragged out a dry shirt. There was a rustle and a clinking sound as a little leather bag fell out of the folds of cloth and Billy's smile faded. He gathered the bag up and hastily tucked it back into the chest before pulling the new shirt over his head.

'We're quite alone,' Sarah said mildly.

'I know,' Billy said sheepishly, rolling his sleeves up. 'I'll just feel better when we make landfall and I can send that fucking map to Jack.'

The map he referred to, drawn in his precise hand and annotated with Sarah's neat additions, was carefully folded and hidden inside the small leather bag of black pearls and pinpointed the exact location of the cache.

'Do you think it necessary?' Sarah said.

Billy shrugged. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'But I feel we should uphold our end of the bargain, I don't want him to have any reason to come looking for us.'

'You don't think he'll notice a pilfered bag of pearls?' she asked with a raised brow.

'Any _more_ reason,' he amended. 'I'm almost sure he won't notice, and if he does then hopefully the rest of the cache will be enough to placate him.'

'I'm sure he won't,' Sarah said easily. 'And they'll be a great help wherever we choose to settle.'

'They will,' Billy agreed. 'As will your winnings at cards. I did try to warn the crew but they didn't pay me any heed.'

Sarah chuckled. 'Perhaps they'll learn, but until they do…well, how large a house did you have your heart set on?'

Billy laughed and ran a caressing hand over her shoulder, looking down at her work. Sarah gestured at the bottle of ink wedged in its stand and then waved a hand across the page.

'A present from the captain,' she said tilting her head up to look at him, watching as he smiled.

'The captain's giving you gifts? Should I be worried?'

Sarah laughed and shook her head at his whimsy. 'If he has ever looked at anyone but his wife I'd be very surprised.'

'He does speak fondly of her,' Billy acknowledged. 'But he has only recently met you,' he continued with a look in his eyes that made her heart rate increase. Sarah put a hand up and pulled his head down so she could kiss him softly.

'You ridiculous man,' she said tenderly. 'He asked me to make a copy for him, he thinks it may come in useful.' Billy put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a more insistent kiss.

'Not ridiculous,' he denied when he drew back.

She would have kissed him again, possibly initiated something a little more intimate but his warm expression suddenly shifted to something akin to awkwardness and he straightened up and carefully stepped away from her.

'I have something I want to talk to you about,' he said, fiddling with his cuffs, looking at his hands and not at her.

Sarah waited, looking at him expectantly even though he did not meet her eyes and trying to quell the irrational surge of concern that his abruptly nervous demeanour provoked. Her mind raced as she tried to think of some reason for his unease, something that she had said or done, but nothing came to mind.

'I've been speaking with the captain,' Billy said. When he didn't continue she prompted him.

'And?'

'I told him the truth about us.'

'What?!' she said, aghast, the quill slapping loudly against the page as she dropped it and surged to her feet. 'Why would you do that?'

On hearing her sharp tone Billy finally looked up and seeing her wide eyed horror immediately tried to reassure her.

'No, no, not the whole truth, just the truth of us not being married. I told him that I'd said it to protect your reputation given how long we had been alone together on the island.'

'But why?' Sarah frowned and watched as he took a deep breath.

'Because I don't want to lie about that. When I tell someone you're my wife I want it to be the truth, and the captain can do it. He can marry us. In fact, he is very willing to, as long as that is your wish.'

The little knot of dread in Sarah's chest vanished and was immediately replaced with giddiness as she took in the significance of his words. It was the spirit of mischief that prompted her to say, 'I rather had my heart set on a title if I'm honest.'

He grinned at her.

'Mrs Gates not good enough for you?'

'It does have a certain ring to it to be sure. And the treasure that goes with it is certainly a sweetener,' she said reflectively, cupping her chin and tapping a finger against her cheek. 'But is it enough to convince me to become your wife?'

He looked a little dazed when she glanced up at him through her lashes.

'What's wrong?' she asked.

'Nothing, I just like the way it sounds, when you call yourself my wife. So what do you say?'

'Really? _So what do you say?_ ' she mimicked in a gruff voice, raising an eyebrow. 'That's your idea of a proposal?'

He came forward then, dropping to his knees and taking her hands in his. Staring up at her earnestly, he said softly, 'Sarah, I once said that there are no two people close enough that something cannot separate them. I was wrong. Please do me the very great honour of becoming my wife in law, as you already are in my heart.'

'Very pretty,' she said, dipping her head and kissing him gently.

'Is that a yes?'

She hummed naughtily.

'Sarah,' he said rising to his feet, his tone stern but belied by the sparkle of humour in his eyes.

'Of course it's a yes, how could you think otherwise?' she said, tapping him admonishingly on the nose and then sighing happily when he took her face in his hands and kissed her reverently.

The wedding took place that evening in Captain Visser's cabin, with Mr Janssen, Uchechi and Walsh as witnesses, the only members of the crew to which Billy would entrust their secret. Sarah was dressed in a plain grey dress that Mr Janssen had bestowed on her earlier in the day, explaining with a blush that he had a trunk full of clothing for his wife and daughter, more than they would need, and would she please accept it as a wedding gift. Sarah had tried to politely decline his generous offer, not wishing to take from his wife but he had laughed and said that the redoubtable lady would have his head if he didn't see Sarah suitably attired for her nuptials. At least that was what she thought he had meant, his phrasing being a little awkward and his accent thick. The dress he had given her was both practical and comfortable and there was a soft linen chemise to go under it. A fall of lace, gifted with a merry wink by Walsh accompanied by a silent but smiling Uchechi, pinned into her hair added a pretty touch to her rather subdued regalia. Her intended was freshly washed, clean shaven and smartly outfitted in rather close fitting trousers, a fine linen shirt and a waistcoat that strained a little across the breadth of his shoulders, all of which Sarah could only assume had been loaned by Mr Janssen who, while of a similar height to Billy, had a more wiry build. Billy looked slightly uncomfortable in his borrowed finery and kept tugging at his collar but Sarah privately thought he looked magnificent.

The vows were a muted affair lit by only a few flickering lamps and serenaded by the gentle creaking of the ship. The ring was a plain silver band bequeathed by the captain whose secretly romantic soul was delighted to be joining two so obviously in love. Despite the noticeable differences between this and her first marriage, a society wedding filled with ostentation and pomp, when Sarah looked at the shyly smiling face of her new husband she knew that she had never been happier.

Later, after their witnesses had toasted the both the bride and groom several times over with a particularly fine bottle of wine saved for just such a happy occasion and a bottle of rum had been broached, the talk started to become a bit lewd for the ears of a lady and Billy led his wife away to the privacy of their cabin. Some extremely salacious advice in a strong Irish accent followed them which, as soon as Billy had shut the door on their tiny berth, sent Sarah into a peal of giggles.

Billy shrugged off the too tight waistcoat, flexing his shoulders, and then pulled her, still giggling, against him. She slid her arms around his neck and stifled her laughter.

'Well, Mr Gates, are you happy?' she whispered in his ear. She felt his arms tighten around her waist.

'Yes, Mrs Gates,' he whispered back. 'I'm very happy.'

'Good, now look lively,' she said in a poor imitation of an Irish accent. 'You're going to have to make haste if we are to cover everything Mr Walsh mentioned.'

She giggled again but then the hungry look in his eyes cut off her laughter abruptly and she flushed, feeling her stomach clench with anticipation.

Billy turned her around and began carefully sliding the pins out of her hair one by one. He placed them into one of her shells that sat upturned on the shelf and caught the lace as it slipped from her hair. Sarah couldn't help the sound of reproach she made when he tossed it casually across the back of the chair but she was distracted by the press of his body behind her and his warm breath on her ear.

He circled around, not breaking the contact between them, until he was facing her then sat down on the bed, pulling her unresisting onto his lap. His hands moved to the lacing of her bodice and he started slowly unthreading the cord.

'Oh no,' he murmured in a low voice. 'I fully intend to take my time.'

Sarah swallowed, hard, and then leaned forward to capture his lips with hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely have no idea if the captain of a ship can marry people or if that is just a myth but in this story it is true and completely legal, so there!


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is, the final chapter. Just a quick warning before I begin: it was always my intention to tie this story to the beginning of Treasure Island but I appreciate that this ending will not be the happily ever after that most of you might expect from a romance. Apologies for that, I have tried to go for a bittersweet tone which I hope will be satisfying for my readers without completely changing Billy's final fate. Also, for Treasure Island purists, I have made a few changes to some of the details to make it fit my story but as far as I was able I have tried to keep at least the spirit of the original book.

_Billy lounges in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe and watching as Sarah reads to the children, a branch of candles bathing them in golden light. The book is their favourite, some ridiculous tome about pirates that he constantly has to restrain himself from correcting, quite rightly fearing it would bring too many awkward questions. The children are tucked up in bed and Sarah sits with them, her free hand gently stroking their curls in turn as she reads. As always the endless high pitched chatter of their constant questions accompanies the soft tones of his wife's voice._

_'Have you ever met a pirate, Mama?' Hal pipes up suddenly._

_Sarah smiles fondly down at him._

_'Once, my dear, a long time ago, but he wasn't so fearsome as the men in this book.'_

_'Was he hideously ugly with only one eye?' Lottie interrupts with relish. Sarah glances up and sees Billy standing there, one eyebrow raised. She winks at him over the heads of the children._

_'Yes, my loves, he was hideous, although he did have both his eyes,' she adds conscientiously. 'But he was very kind to me.'_

_'Kind to you?' Hal looks sceptical, both his expression and dark hair so like his mother's._

_'Kind to me,' she confirms with a smirk at her husband. 'Despite his repulsive countenance he was not like the other pirates. He helped me.'_

_'Helped you how?'_

_Billy decides that it is time to halt this line of questioning and pushes himself upright._

_'I think it's long past the time the two of you were in bed,' he says, strolling into the room. His entrance is immediately met with denials and complaining and although he smiles warmly he is unmoved by their eloquence._

_'But Papa, we've only had one chapter!' Lottie says indignantly. Billy kneels down and plants a kiss on the top of her head, one fair curl tickling his face._

_'And that is all you're having tonight, it's time to sleep,' he says gently but firmly. Hal is much more obedient than his younger sister and has already slipped down contentedly under the blankets. Billy gives him a kiss too and the small boy smiles at his father._

_'Goodnight Papa.'_

_'Goodnight Hal, sleep well.'_

_He watches as Sarah places the book back on the bookshelf and kisses both children. She picks up the branch of candles and follows Billy out the room, closing the door quietly behind her. In the kitchen he waits for her to place the candles down on the oak table and then catches her up in his arms._

_'Hideously ugly, eh?' he says and she giggles and then smooths out her expression._

_'Well, I could hardly say he was the handsomest man I had ever laid eyes on, that would have led to even more questions than usual,' she says coyly._

_Billy can't fault her logic._

_'Handsomest man you'd ever laid eyes on?' he says with a grin._

_She nods and there is a twinkle of mischief in her eyes._

_'I had led a_ very _sheltered life,' she says solemnly._

The slamming of a door across the hall shook Billy from his reverie and the parlour of the Admiral Benbow Inn swam slowly back into focus. A log on the fire hissed as it smouldered and Billy surreptitiously wiped the moisture from his eyes, although there was no-one around to witness his misery. He wondered what had prompted that long forgotten memory to surface. Hal and Lottie were both grown now with young families of their own, and Sarah…Billy could still hardly bear to think it, although it had been almost nine months now.

God, he missed her so much. He missed his children and grandchildren too but at least he could be content that he had done all in his power to keep them safe, particularly if his plan came off as he anticipated.

He considered sending for Jim, the innkeeper's son, to ask him about the one legged man again but he had already interrogated the boy about him twice today and Billy didn't think that further questions would yield a different response. He knew the boy mistook his agitation and impatience for fear but he couldn't find it in himself to give a fuck.

He sipped his rum, ignoring the lingering guilt that swirled in his gut. Only days before the doctor had warned Billy that he needed to curb his indulgence in strong drink after he had collapsed chasing the Black Dog from the inn. Billy's lip curled into a snarl when he thought of Black Dog's taunts, his vile curiosity and blatant self-interest. Rage had overwhelmed Billy and he had forced Black Dog from the inn with threats and the sharp point of his cutlass, and then fallen insensible to the floor. On waking he found the doctor's unwelcome visage looming above him and a heavy feeling of hopelessness in his heart. A stroke the doctor had called it, but all Billy knew was that his limbs didn't feel like his own and didn't respond in the way they should.

He sipped the sweet rum again, his need to dull his grief in the bottle too strong to resist. He felt old and worn, an empty husk of the man he had been. What use to tell a man in despair that he is drinking himself to death when Death seems like a comforting friend, someone to ease the pain of loss?

_Sarah opens her eyes at the creak of the door and, on seeing him, smiles wanly. She is propped up against her pillows but there is exhaustion in every line of her body, a distinct slump to her normally upright posture. Billy can see the silver that now streaks her once dark hair and the tight lines of pain around her eyes and the corners of her mouth. She holds out a hand to him._

_'Billy, my love,' she rasps, her voice ravaged by the sickness. He goes to her on shaky legs, relieved to sink into the forgiving softness of her feather mattress and press himself against her, seeking reassurance in the familiarity of her embrace. They had been keeping him from her, insistent that he regain his strength before he be allowed to leave his bed but he had snuck away when they thought him sleeping. 'You look dreadful,' she says, tenderly stroking his cheek._

_'You look beautiful,' he responds, catching her hand in his. Sarah smiles but it is a feeble effort, more of a grimace._

_'Liar,' she says without heat. 'I'm sure I look worse than you.' Billy curls himself around her and she sighs contentedly. 'I missed you.'_

_'Hal's being a fucking mother hen and wouldn't let me leave my bed.'_

_Her chuckle is more of a hoarse gasp. 'But you've escaped your gaoler for now.'_

_'For now, he thinks I'm sleeping.'_

_'As you should be.'_

_'So should you.'_

_'I'll sleep soon,' she says, threading her fingers around his. She shifts slightly so that she can look into his eyes. 'I love you,' she says and to Billy it feels like a goodbye._

_'I love you too,' he says, pressing his lips to hers. She smiles. This time it reaches her eyes, briefly smoothing away her drawn expression, and then her eyelids flutter closed. Billy shifts his weight and she puts a hand to his cheek._

_'Stay with me?' she whispers._

_'Always,' he promises, kissing her forehead gently._

Later he realised that he had forgotten to extract the same promise from her, but by then it was too late. The fever that had taken her and little Johanna, Hal's youngest daughter, had been swift and pitiless, despite all the coin Billy and Hal had desperately lavished on physicians in the hopes of a cure. Billy too had been sick as a dog, five miserable days of puking and chills, but at the end of it God had perversely spared his wretched life. There was no such mercy for Sarah and Johanna and Billy could only be morbidly grateful that Sarah's passing only hours before had spared her the heartache of Johanna's, for she loved her grandchildren just as fiercely as she loved her children.

Billy sighed when he realised he had emptied his glass again and shouted roughly for Jim. When Jim entered the room he did so hesitantly, peeping around the door and then reluctantly shuffling in.

'Fetch me more rum, boy,' Billy said, scowling fiercely as he impatiently overrode Jim's vague protestations. Billy was aware that he had been harsh with him, with everyone in truth, but he couldn't bear the sight of him. Jim reminded him too much of Hal at the same age and without the mask of the ill-tempered pirate he might have fallen at the boy's feet and wept like a child. Instead he maintained his cantankerous façade, placing an ominous hand over the cutlass that lay on the highly polished surface of the table, until Jim gulped and did as he was bid. The remorse Billy felt for frightening the child was fleeting, washed away by the burn of the rum in his throat as he swallowed it down, and he returned quickly to his self-absorption, his mind flashing back to that ill-fated day almost six months previously.

It had begun, as these things often do, with a feeling of disquiet that he couldn't place nor discern the source. Then a whisper of dread that ran chilling fingers down the back of his neck, and finally it was the hard-eyed stare of a man amongst the crowds of the city, barely remembered but somehow menacing. It had taken Billy a long time to recall the man's name, unsurprising given that it had been more than thirty five years, but when he did his blood froze and he knew that his past had finally caught up with him.

The map Billy had taken as security all those years ago would now be his children's security. Jack, the intended recipient of the map, had ended his tale in the choking embrace of the hangman's noose before Billy had had the opportunity to restore it to him. When Billy had read the news, not long after they had first arrived in New York, he had breathed a tiny bit easier. He had ignored the unexpected pang of sorrow for the death of the man he had known and had prayed that that was the end of it. The appearance of Israel Hands in the city so many years later served as a sign to Billy there would be no end to it, not until he had the courage to finish his own story.

Surrendering the map to Long John Silver would mean he would have no reason to search further and expose the truth of Billy's life. Never find the house Billy had built for Sarah that they had filled with warmth and love and family. The place of all his happiest memories: Sarah putting his hand against her rounded stomach so he could feel the first kicks of the baby she never thought she would carry. The smell of herbs drying in the kitchen and curled wood shavings on the floor of the workshop. Sarah's look of mischief when she had slapped the first of those seditious pamphlets that so amused their Dutch neighbours down on the table in front of him, laughing as he had innocently denied all knowledge. Hal's pride as he showed them the first chair he had constructed under his father's tutelage. Lottie's beaming smile as Billy escorted her down the aisle to her nervous husband to be. A life of contented domesticity that Billy had fretted wouldn't be enough for him and then found that it was everything and more.

For a time it seemed as if Silver had vanished off the face of the earth but six months of following false leads and dead ends had brought Billy, filled with a desperate determination, to the country of his birth and to Bristol where rumours of a one legged cook with a black wife abounded. If he could just find Silver and hand over the map it would be finished. He didn't care what revenge Silver chose to visit upon him, Sarah was beyond Silver's reach now and Billy was willing to face the consequences of his actions all those years ago provided his children never had to pay for his terrible mistakes. There was the possibility that, much like Billy's feelings regarding Flint, Silver had mellowed in the intervening years, his need for revenge faded with time, but Billy couldn't take the risk. He had to know. He had to protect his family.

With that in mind he had taken a room at the Admiral Benbow and set about making himself the talk of the town. Folk came from far and wide to listen in the evenings to his lurid tales and with each passing night word spread and the crowd got bigger. Soon, he knew, Silver would hear the talk and step out from the shadows in which he concealed himself to confront Billy. The stories Billy told of terrible deeds he had never committed grew wilder with each retelling, as gruesome and outlandish as he could manage. People wanted to see a pirate, the man he sort expected a pirate, and so a pirate he would be, the very worst he could conjure. Occasionally he wondered if the sea shanties were a step too far but it drew attention that he was anxious to gain so he continued his carousing.

Billy stared morosely at the glass in his hand, a dull thudding pain behind his eyes, watching with a detached sort of interest the way his hand trembled. He lifted his head as the door handle rattled and then the door flew open with a bang. A man Billy had once begrudgingly called brother entered, clinging to the arm of an ashen faced Jim, who said in an unsteady voice, 'Here's a friend for you, Bill.'

In many respects Pew had changed very little in the intervening years, his ugly face was still twisted with spite and the hunch of his shoulders still gave him a misshapen appearance but age had carved furrows into his face and apparently blinded his eyes since last Billy had seen him. Jim looked sick with fear as he helped the man towards Billy and Billy wondered what threats Pew had issued to make the boy quake so. Knowing Pew they were none of them pleasant, and completely unnecessary, but then Pew never had any sense of proportion. When jostled accidently he was just as likely to stab a man to death for the insult as brush off the unintended contact with a laugh. For the boy's own safety Billy played along with no complaints, taking the slip of paper that was handed to him without demur. As soon as it was in Billy's hands Pew turned and flew out of the door like a shot, some of his frailty apparently feigned judging by his hasty exit.

Billy opened the folded paper slowly and almost laughed. It seemed that Silver had neither forgotten nor forgiven him.

The Black Spot stared menacingly up at him from the ragged page.

And with it, a message in a familiar curling hand: _You have until ten tonight._

He sighed with relief. Silver had found him and now all was at an end. He glanced at the boy who was staring at him with frightened eyes.

'Ten o'clock. Six hours,' Billy said unnecessarily as he pushed himself upright, wondering as he did so why his tongue felt so thick and his speech sounded slurred. Jim's face swam before his eyes and he felt suddenly unsteady on his feet as a strange weakness spread down his legs. The pain behind his eyes flared, dark spots flickering across his vision. He tried to put a hand to his brow but only managed to press it to his throat and then the floor was rushing up to meet him. He could do nothing to stop himself and fell heavily on the wooden boards, agony exploding in his temple. Jim's cry of alarm was oddly muffled, as if he shouted from another room, and then all sound ceased, aside from a faint buzzing that echoed in Billy's ears.

A blinding white light seared his eyes and then, abruptly, the pain left him. His heart seized with hope. He felt a whispering touch, like a warm hand caressing his face, and then that beloved voice said in an amused and loving tone, 'I knew you'd turn savage the moment my back was turned.'

Billy sighed contentedly and welcomed the soothing darkness that overwhelmed him.

It was only later, when Jim went back to the parlour with his mother to find the key to Billy Bones' sea chest, that he noticed the oddly serene expression on the face of the belligerent, drunken pirate, as if in death the man had somehow found peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, thank you so much for reading.  
> A couple of notes on the final chapter:  
> \- I know I may have heavily implied that Sarah couldn't have children but sometimes fertility can be a fickle thing.  
> \- Working out the timeline proved quite difficult, although maybe I was reading the wrong things. The Black Sails Wiki says that the events of the TV series take place about 20 years before the book but as far as I could tell the book takes place sometime after 1750 and the TV series starts in 1715. Obviously I went with the longer timeline because I wanted Sarah and Billy to have as much time together as possible.


End file.
